


Moving On

by Lampsprite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 151,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lampsprite/pseuds/Lampsprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Eighth Year fic in which Draco transforms and Harry finally comes back from the dead. It’s time to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Your Crystal Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The result of an excess of pondering, on my part, about the aftermath of the final battle and its effect on the Wizarding world; more specifically, its effect upon Harry and Draco. 
> 
> How would the messiah see life after death? How would the criminal find redemption after defeat? More importantly, how could either of them move on? These were the things I'd wondered, and this is what has come of it.

After a night that seemed like it might stretch into eternity, morning finally broke across the sky in a splash of blue-gray light. It streamed through the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall, now just a shell of its former self, and washed over its sea of jubilant occupants. Draco sat beside his parents, ignored in the shadow of one of the few remaining pillars, and felt close to nothing; no anger, no fear, no relief. Just blessed emptiness.

He couldn't look away from the center of the teeming masses where the Boy Who Lived, now the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, stood like a buoy in a roiling ocean. Eager hands rose above the waves to touch him, grateful words hung in the air like prayers, and the Savior's lips curved into a soft smile even as his gaze flit toward the open spaces where walls once stood.

At one point not too long ago, Draco would have felt bitter at such a blatant display of Potter's celebrity. But now, in this moment between one era and the next, he couldn't help noticing the slump of Potter's shoulders or the bags under his eyes. Draco was forcibly reminded of the look staring back at him from his own mirror just that morning. And he wondered how he hadn't noticed the signs earlier on Potter, when the exhaustion seemed so obvious now in his stance.

The eyes of everyone in the room drank Potter in, but Draco could tell Potter's cup had run dry hours ago. His haunted green eyes were unfocused. Draco doubted he was even there with them at all.

Draco ripped his gaze away, like spellotape from an old wound, and looked down at his hand clenched in his lap. His mother had been caressing his back for some time now, as if she needed reassurance that he was flesh and blood and whole beside her. He indulged her, even if he barely felt the touch. After the constant adrenaline of fear stretched him taut over the past few years, his pale skin and fragile bones felt completely numb now.

He flexed his fingers and the burnt skin of his palm stretched painfully over the delicate bones and tendons. The fiendfyre had licked his outstretched palm only hours ago. Right before Potter had grasped that hand in his haste to rescue him, smearing Draco's blood between their palms. In the rush of adrenaline pumping though his veins and the roar of the fiendfyre in his ears, Draco had clasped back with all of his might, the pain forgotten. He tormented the broken flesh now, angry and red, because it was the only thing he could feel, or maybe because something worthwhile in him knew he deserved it.

Did that redeem him now? He coughed under his breath, tasting ashes in his mouth. Somehow, he doubted it.

He'd refused his mother's healing charm, preferring to allow his shiny red skin to blister and scab. He hoped it scarred and became a reminder that he was The Boy Who Had Made All the Wrong Choices. In a different life, merely a year before, he'd entertained the notion that he was The Boy Who Was Victim to Circumstance. But his conscience had known, even then, that to be a lie. As with everything else worth noting, that particular title belonged to Potter and always had done. It had only taken a year of imprisonment and torture in his own home, Voldemort's pale corpse sprawled out across the rubble of his beloved school, for Draco to finally realize it.

Draco felt an insane urge to laugh, sat there at the crumbling Slytherin table in the shadows betwixt his beleaguered parents, but he feared that if he truly let go, he would sob instead.

 

* * *

 

His return to the manor that night was torture; every wall felt steeped in fear, the floors stained with blood that only he could see. It was hard not to imagine that the steady supply of it had soaked into the very foundation, tainting the magic that permeated the stone. Each room felt imprinted with the offenses perpetrated within them. And Draco was forced to watch the tortured ghosts of the past reenact their last, agonized moments every time he stepped past a threshold. In the following days, he could scarcely visit the kitchen without seeing Wormtail washing the blood from his hands and mumbling incoherently under his breath. He couldn't navigate the hallways without seeing Fenrir Greyback dragging the too-small bodies of his latest victims behind him. He couldnt eat in the dining room with his mother without seeing a dead woman hanging above the table like a limp puppet, Nagini waiting with a gaping maw for the Dark Lord to cut her strings.

His father had locked himself in his study the moment they'd arrived, distancing himself from his wife and son. Draco supposed it was guilt that had reduced his father to the dull-eyed recluse he had become, but he wasn't entirely sure. Draco knew it was wishful thinking, but as the specters of the tormented bled out of the walls and roamed the corridors like living things, he hoped his father could see them too. He hoped his father spent his days alone trying to wash the blood off of his hands and failing, just as Draco did.

At night he heard the screams echoing up from the dungeons, and no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that those cells were empty now, the screams would not diminish. Often, he awoke in his mother's arms, his cheeks sticky and wet, the hoarse screaming unceasing until she placed a gentle hand over his lips.

The Ministry trials that summer were short, but Draco trembled as he sat in the defendant's chair with magical chains biting into his wrists and ankles. He bore the accusations from the Wizengamot with as much aplomb as he could muster, ironically missing the twinkle of Dumbledore's gaze.

When Potter emerged from the audience and rose to the witness chair, Draco couldn't help sucking in a breath; dread making him sweat. Up until that moment, Draco had avoided the story of the last days of Voldemort's tyrannical reign, but now he listened to the distant, over-practiced way Potter told it. Potter's eyes dulled when he described his own death, as if his soul was still scratching at the confines of his body, not yet convinced this was where it belonged. He only looked at Draco once, while he described the role Draco's mother had played in his survival. It was the only time Potter sounded like something other than bored. When Potter left the stand, Arthur Weasley rubbed his shoulder supportively, but Potter barely seemed to notice.

Draco found his suddenly tight lungs quite inadequate to their task of breathing. The chains, however, vanished perfunctorily, and he stumbled out of the chair with nary a backward glance.

His father had not been so lucky.

Draco didn't know whether to feel haunted or relieved, but he forced himself not to dwell on his once proud father rotting in an Azkaban cell.

A month after that, his mother had decided that he would attend Hogwarts for the make-up year. She'd received the Owl from McGonagall herself, and insisted that Draco heed the invitation and the good-faith inherent in it.

"I wish you to ingratiate yourself, Draco," she'd told him as her delicate fingers trembled slightly around a fluted glass of the finest Elf-made wine.

"Yes, mother," he'd acquiesced obediently, knowing her true motive was to free him from the manor and all of the torment he had suffered within it, but he couldn't help the feeling that he'd been pulled out of the snake's pit only to be shoved into the lion's den.

A week before he left, an unfamiliar owl delivered his wand, but he dared not pull it out of its well crafted box. He'd already received a new one from a Parisian wandmaker, and the very thought of touching the one that had chosen Potter over him caused him great discomfort. Only when he picked up the box to place it at the bottom of his wardrobe had he noticed the note that fluttered to the floor. His hands trembled as he picked it up and read it, eyes scanning over it at least three times before he could look away.

_Time to move on._

Draco made certain to carefully fold the note and place it beside his wand in the ornately crafted box so that his gaze couldn't fall upon either of them.

Instead, with the now familiar dread knotting his stomach, he busied himself with inspecting the list McGonagall had owled him of NEWT level textbooks and school supplies. He already had most of the text books from his Sixth Year. Although, he had been so distracted that year, he suspected he'd have to study them again if he wished to receive good marks.

His eyes skimmed over _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage, _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7_ by Miranda Goshawk, _Advanced Rune Translation_ , _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration,_ and _Confronting the Faceless_ , the Defense Against the Dark Arts text book, to catch upon a book title he'd never seen before, _So You Think You Can Become an Animagus, You Bigheaded Bugger_ by Mutatia Wolfe.

A long absent thrill traveled up his spine. The very idea that Eighth Year lessons could include Animagus transfiguration was captivating, to say the least. It was highly advanced magic, and very rarely mastered. He only knew of seven Witches and Wizards throughout history who had become registered Animagi, including McGonagall herself. Even in his current mood, he could not help the jolt of anticipation and anxiety at the prospect of learning to become one too.

He arrived at a Hogwarts under heavy construction a week later. He'd come early via Hogsmeade, so he hadn't been certain anyone would be at the gates to greet him, but McGonagall stood there like a black pillar in the morning mist. He fumbled with his luggage as she informed him that he was the first to arrive. He was shocked to see her gaze softening upon him as she asked after his health. He hadn't been sleeping since the siege, but he didn't tell her that. He suspected she'd already deduced that from the look of him.

Mercifully, she didn't comment further and proceeded to show him to the new Eighth Year Dormitories. Signs of the siege were everywhere but in the Great Hall, which had already been restored to its former glory. Draco understood the impulse to repair it first. Obviously, it was the place where the Light had triumphed over Dark, but it was also the only part of the castle where all of the Houses regularly came together.

Of course, his assigned dorms were in a tower not unlike Gryffindor's. He supposed, a bit bitterly, that the Savior would prefer something familiar, but as soon as the thoughts crossed his mind, Draco wondered if Potter was even amongst the number coming back. He realized he didn't know, and it unsettled him to think that Potter might be bypassing NEWTs while Draco remained behind, toiling for marks that might not be enough to blot out his tarnished reputation.

_Time to move on._

Draco had heard that the Ministry had waived NEWT requirements for new Auror recruits. Nothing said that Potter would have to move on at Hogwarts. In fact, given the boundless opportunities now open to him, it was downright unlikely. If Potter had any sense, he would be entering the wizarding world and taking it by storm. Draco's only path lay here where nothing was certain or promised, where the very walls still held scars from the wounds he'd helped inflict. No, this would not be a friendly place for him now, a home away from home. Something in his chest ached at the thought. Neither one of his childhood homes, the Manor nor Hogwarts, was truly his now.

Draco's heart sank further at the sight of a Griffin guarding the doorway to his new dormitory, but when McGonagall stated the password to open the portal, a burst of Gryffindor crimson and gold did not assault his eyes. In fact, he stepped into a round common room where the colors were pleasingly muted with no one hue represented over another. There were large windows covering the left side, inlaid with stained glass representations of the different house symbols. He had to admit, the effect was quite pleasing, and the view of the grounds beyond with an edge of the black lake and the Scottish hills rising in the distance wasn't horribly distasteful either.

"This will be your new home at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall stated in her usual curt manner as she stepped into the room after him. "You will, of course, be staying in the boy's dormitories. As there are a relatively small number of Eighth Year students, there will only be two dormitories, divided by gender."

Draco looked to where she was pointing, noting the spiral staircase to the left of the fire place, and its twin to the girl's dorm spiraling out from the right of it.

"As you are the first," McGonagall went on. "You will have your choice of four-posters. I am informed others will arrive shortly. So you'd best be quick about it."

Draco nodded and made his way up the staircase, having to levitate his own trunk behind him for the first time during a move into Hogwarts. The charm he'd cast wasn't as strong as he'd like and the parcels kept knocking against each step he climbed. McGonagall had told him the house elves were all preoccupied with fixing the castle and preparing for the larger arrival of the lower years in the coming week. Laundry and cleaning services were a bit sluggish as a consequence. He tried not to glean any accusation from her words or tone, but his constant and uncomfortable guilt wouldn't allow him the pleasure. It was tiring, the unending shame and paranoia, but deep down he could only cling to it. It was an alarming side-effect of Voldemort's demise that he felt he deserved the discomfort, and the anger he'd once felt about that had long since ebbed into a sort of melancholic acceptance of his lot.

His name was tarnished, his father was in Azkaban, and his mother, while widely known to be the Death Eater who had betrayed Voldemort and saved the Savior, was not welcomed readily into any surviving social circles. Her old friends were either in prison or on the run, and no one from the other side could stomach her presence. Likewise, all of Draco's old friends were gone, enduring the same familial turmoil he had. All he and his mother had up until his invitation to Hogwarts was the manor and the knowledge of what they had done there.

His scarred hand itched around his new wand when he stepped into the boy's dorm room. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows and cast colorful patterns upon the neutral blue-gray sheets of the beds. He could only feel relieved that it wasn't anywhere near a dungeon.

He looked about the room and noted that it was larger than what he was used to, housing a ring of twelve four-posters along the walls. Tall windows rose between each of them. Draco chose a bed closest to the door as it was in a darker corner. He suspected he would probably need to avoid his dorm mates as the year progressed. He placed his trunk at the foot of the bed and sat down upon the mattress, testing its comfort. It was firmer than his bed at home, but no different to his old dorm bed in Slytherin. His eyes caught upon the blue-gray and gold inlay of the sheets and curtains and he instantly missed the Slytherin green. He pushed down the unhelpful nostalgia, refusing to dwell upon the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens, and for the hundredth time that day he wondered what he was doing there.

 _Time to move on_.

Draco shook his head and stood up, unpacking his broom after he caught sight of the inviting sunlit grounds through the nearest window.

It was dark by the time he re-entered the castle. He'd been avoiding it for so long, every muscle he could think of, and some he couldn't, burned with overexertion and his hair was incurably windswept. A flash of messy black hair caught his mind's eye before he shook his head and rubbed his eyes with a dirty forefinger and thumb. The firelight of the entrance hall burned his eyes, and he could hear murmurs from beyond the doors to the Great Hall. He eyed the crack of light between the doors, idly stretching the scarred skin of his palm, before he turned and made his way toward the Eighth Year tower, hoping he remembered the route correctly from earlier. He walked through hallways that were only half mended, whole portions of the outer walls missing so that anyone could have stepped passed them and fallen to their deaths onto the grounds below if it weren't for the shimmering magical wards posing as makeshift barriers. He remembered the explosive force that had blasted through those walls, reducing the ancient stones to rubble. He thought he could still hear the rumble of explosive curses and the roars of raging Giants in the distance. After a few wrong turns and a fair few more right ones, he finally made it to the Griffin, his ears ringing.

His tight shoulders unwound when he encountered an empty common room but there were new trunks at the foot of every four-poster, save two, when he entered the boy's dormitory and carelessly dropped his old Nimbus 2001 onto his mattress. He took off his robe and the sweaty shirt beneath it, thinking he might take a quick shower until his stomach made its displeasure known with a loud growl. He paused, chewing his lip anxiously and thinking how he might procure food. He would prefer to summon a Hogwarts elf, but they were busy and probably against serving him alone. He realized there was nothing for it. He tiredly waved his wand, murmuring a half-arsed cleaning charm before pulling a new shirt over his head and finger-combing his slightly sweaty hair into submission. He grimaced as he passed a mirror by the bathroom and wished he had opted for the shower after all. His hair had never looked so unkempt, but he preferred not to tame it with charms as that interfered with his expensive hair potions.

Pasting a cold and stoic expression over his disgusted and slightly anxious one, Draco sneered half-heartedly into the mirror before taking his leave.

His fingers paused in mid-air just before they could touch the doors to the Great Hall and Draco took a deep breath in an attempt to gather his nerves as someone's laughter filtered through the crack. He tried to remember how his facial muscles felt when set into that untouchable expression, and when they felt vaguely familiar, his hand pushed the door open and he stepped through to the other side.

There was a knot of about twenty students from his year sitting at the Gryffindor table, although as Draco approached he noticed that not all of them were Gryffindors. He recognized some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, mostly boys, sitting beside Finnigan, and laughing at his jokes. A group of girls sat nearby, also of every house, save one. Draco stopped at the far end of the table, the only one in the Hall prepared with place settings and food, and noticed with little surprise, although he had hoped it would be otherwise, that he was the only Slytherin present.

It didn't take long for the others to notice him and a pall of silence fell over the group. Draco sat down at the furthest edge from them, but the distance didn't keep him from hearing Finnigan's mock whisper of, "Blimey, what's _he_ doing here?"

Draco didn't spare them a glance as he spooned himself some food, but he could feel their curiosity and contempt prickling his skin.

"McGonagall let him come back?" another questioned, not even bothering to lower his voice. Draco thought it was one of the Hufflepuffs, but he couldn't tell, and he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction by trying to search the culprit out. "It's like he's dancing on their graves!"

Draco's wand hand twitched around his knife, but he forced himself to cut through his food mechanically. He kept his uncaring façade in place, although he was so conscious of the unwanted attention that he wasn't quite sure what he was shoving into his mouth.

"I'm sure McGonagall's only trying to be fair," a girl piped up, although she sounded uncertain. Draco was surprised by the defense nonetheless, but then another boy, possibly a Ravenclaw, interjected,

"Fair? He killed Dumbledore!"

Draco stiffened.

"That was Snape," another boy added. "You know that."

"He as good as!" Finnigan refuted. "You read it in the Prophet. Malfoy was the one with the job to do. Right little Death Eater, he is. He was the one who let them all in that night, and without that, Dumbledore would've never been killed."

"But his wand –"

"Yeah, his wand," Finnigan interrupted. "That's just more proof, innit? Malfoy overpowered Dumbledore with that wand then lost it to Harry in a duel. He was lucky things played out the way they did."

"Still…" A new boy said. It sounded like one of the Ravenclaws. Boot, was it? "Harry spoke up for him at his trial."

"Doesn't mean he's innocent," Finnigan countered stubbornly. "Just because his mother had the sense to stop opening her legs for Voldemort."

Draco clutched his knife, the scars on his palm protesting. He finally looked over at his tablemates, singling Finnigan out with a glare. "I'd shut it if I were you, Finnigan."

Finnigan's eyes only widened for a second, before he uttered a snide, "And why's that?"

"Seamus –"one of the Patil twins warned, but he interrupted her.

"Did I say something too close to the truth?"

"Would you prefer I hex your bits off?" Draco rejoined, anger and disdain licking at his insides.

"Oho!" Seamus crowed, although he looked far from amused. "Sounds like I've hit the nail on the head then. Did you see it, Malfoy? Your mother moaning Voldemort's name right before she turned around and stabbed him in the back?"

" _Seamus!_ " That was Brown now, looking a bit green around the edges as she frowned and narrowed her eyes at Finnigan. Everyone else at the table was watching the row with a mixture of discomfort and vindictive pleasure painting their faces. Draco knew that even those who had so feebly defended him earlier were against him when it came down to it.

"Say that again about my mother," Draco shot back, his voice shaking with rage. Finnigan had no idea what his mother had gone through, the things she had sacrificed to merely survive in her own home. "And—"

"What?" Finnigan shouted, looking red in the face now. "Because you've shut up about ours? You've spent every waking moment of your life looking down on other people's parentage, Malfoy. Why should we extend you the same courtesy?"

Everyone stared at Finnigan, and sobriety settled over the table like a fog. Finnigan glanced at all of them, his chest heaving, before he turned his glare back on Draco. His hand was on Thomas's shoulder, as if to support and shield him. A distant part of Draco not currently downed in rage remembered that Finnigan was a half-blood. he now understood how that raw anger and fear had festered over years of bigotry and turned into this. It didn't mean he accepted Finnigan's way of showing it.

"Your mother was a coward who knew how to stay on the winning side," Finnigan spat. "She didn't save Harry because she wanted to help him. She knew her Dark Lord's number was up, so she did the only thing she knew would keep her out of Azkaban."

"You know nothing about my mother," Draco retorted automatically. "She is ten times the witch yours—"

"And you know nothing about my father!" Finnigan interrupted. "Or Dean's mother, but that didn't stop you from taking Dean into your dungeons, and torturing him because of what she was."

Draco bit his tongue, remembering all too well when Thomas was in his dungeon along with the loony girl and the wand maker, Ollivander. He'd never been forced to torture them himself, but he'd heard their agonized screams from his bedroom. It sounded trite to excuse himself by saying that his wand in particular hadn't been turned on them, and he couldn't say with any certainty that he would have saved them from their fates had he had the chance. He'd been too confused, disillusioned, and afraid to do much of anything back then.

Draco's silence seemed answer enough for Finnigan.

"That's the truth, isn't it, Malfoy? And nothing can convince me that your entire family wouldn't have been perfectly happy had Voldemort won. You chose your side long ago and I know you haven't changed, no matter what the Wizengamot says. You don't belong here when so many other students won't be returning. You should leave."

Draco sent him a long look, his blood boiling. No one else interjected or came to his defense. Draco had expected that, although a small part of him had hoped for something else. Most of the others weren't even looking at him. Longbottom was peering down at his plate intently, so much for the vaunted courage of the Snake-Slayer, and most of the girls were biting their lips and sending each other uncomfortable looks. The other boys were merely watching him for a reaction.

Draco stiffly got up from the table and left the Great Hall, doing his best to ignore Finnigan's glare as it burned into his back. He kicked a suit of armor on the way back to the tower and ignored the resultant pain in his toe.

The moment he reentered the dormitory, he ripped off his clothes except for the undergarments and fell into his four-poster. He spelled the curtains firmly shut around him, murmuring a muffliato and warding the curtains against any intruders. In the resultant silence, where only his breathing broke through, he could hear the tormented screams echoing in the background. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to will them away, but he knew that once they'd come they wouldn't leave him until he was too exhausted to hear them anymore.

An errant thought seeped in through the cacophony in his head, and Draco realized that Potter hadn't been in the Great Hall, and neither had Granger or Weasel.

They weren't coming back for Eighth Year then. Of course they weren't.

He let out a sharp breath, clenching his scarred hand until it stung, and curled up into a ball.

_You don't belong here._

No. He didn't.

 

* * *

 

Draco slept in; waiting for a moment when he knew the others would be gone. It was lunch by the time he finally pulled back his curtains and peered about the room. It was empty.

He got up, in dire need of a shower, flicking his wand and mumbling, "Accio Sleekeazy's Luxe Edition."

Nothing happened, and he flicked it again, waiting for the familiar jolt of magic. It didn't come. His new wand lay impotent in his hand. He seriously considered throwing it against a wall, but he flicked it violently instead. Until, in fits and spurts, the small potion bottle floated out of his trunk and into his hand. Draco missed his old wand, but he refused to even think about using it again. This was his wand now, and he would just have to learn to get used to its frustrating, fickle nature.

When he entered it, the wash room was already full of toiletries that weren't his own. Wet towels were still strewn about the floor and potion bottles littered the counter tops. Draco grimaced at the sight. The Hogwarts Elves' preoccupation with the rebuilding of the castle would take some getting used to, and now he regretted sleeping in his bed the night previous without having taken a shower beforehand. His sheets probably wouldn't be washed for some time.

The hot water felt good on his skin though, and he closed his eyes as the potion industriously tingled upon his scalp. His wand hand travelled low and he coaxed himself into hardness, thinking he might release some tension before entering a day that promised to be tense. Vague visions of brilliant green and the feel of a broomstick between his legs flashed in his mind before he pulled himself off. He pressed his forehead against the blue-gray tiles, letting the water sluice over him one last time as he regained his equilibrium.

"Still here, are you?"

Draco felt distinctly vulnerable when he stepped out of the shower, with only a towel wrapped about his waist, to find Finnigan looming in the doorway. He eyed his wand over by the sink. It was too far to reach, but Finnigan was staring at the scar on his chest, a scowl twisting his lips.

"Clearly," Draco sneered, a bit too late, but he cloaked himself in an air of nonchalance as he walked over to the sink and his wand, taking care to watch Finnigan's reflection in the mirror.

Finnigan stepped further into the room and Draco tensed. "You should have died in that fire, Malfoy. Saved us all the trouble."

"I'm not sure Potter would agree," Draco drawled and he could see Finnigan's eyes flash in his reflection. They all knew the story as Potter told it. It had been in all the papers if it hadn't been heard straight from Potter's mouth. It wasn't a secret that Potter thought saving Draco's life had been key to Potter's survival.

Finnigan's wand hand twitched and Draco flattened his own palm over his wand by the sink. They eyed each other warily.

"You should leave, Malfoy," Finnigan repeated. "Harry isn't here to save you again."

Draco wanted to retort that he didn't need saving, but he bit his tongue and held Finnigan's gaze instead, gripping his wand in case he had to use it. They both started when someone called Finnigan's name from the dorm room.

Finnigan shook his head, then sent him one last threatening look before turning away, finally leaving Draco alone. Draco felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders and he glanced back at his reflection in the mirror, eyeing the silver scar that ran down his chest before taking in the haunted expression he wore. He hoped that Finnigan and whoever else was in the room would be leaving. He didn't fancy loitering in the steamy wash room for much longer. He dried his hair with a weak charm, listening intently for any sound from the dormitory, but he couldn't hear anything.

For a paranoid moment, he wondered if Finnigan and some of his friends were lying in wait to ambush him when he exited. He attempted a Hominum Revelio charm, but when nothing made itself known, he couldn't be sure if that was due to an actual lack of bodies in the room or his wand malfunctioning. He poked his head out and eyed the room instead. It looked clear so he dropped his towel and slid into some pants, followed by the rest of his clothing.

He mulled over taking his broomstick out again, but a quick look out the window told him that that would be counterproductive. A large number of the Eighth Years, boys and girls alike, had apparently had the same idea and were currently making their way out onto the grounds, broomsticks in hand. He decided he would go to the Library instead, and see if he couldn't get a jump on his studies before the semester started. He suspected that it might be difficult for him to study there once the school filled up and students of a mind with Finnigan inevitably decided it was their duty to make life difficult for the former Death Eater in their midst.

Hours later, when it grew dark and Draco could no longer ignore Madam Pince's disdainful glances, he reluctantly left the library. His empty stomach rumbled insistently and he knew he would have to enter the Great Hall for some dinner. It was frustrating, but he couldn't think of any other way around it, and he refused to be cowed by Finnigan and his supporters. Backing down in the face of his, so far, empty threats would deal a serious blow to Draco's already wounded pride, and he felt strongly that this was one battle he should fight. After all, if he couldn't overcome this one uncomfortable situation with his peers, how could he ever hope to overcome the challenges he would face outside of Hogwarts when the year was over?

He steeled himself for the worst at the threshold, but when he entered, the Great Hall was louder than it had been the night before, and he soon saw why. There, accepting hugs and hearty backslaps from his year mates at the Gryffindor table, was Harry Potter. Granger and Weasley were beside him, rounding out the ever consummate trio, accepting warm welcomes as well.

Draco froze just steps from the door, uncertain what to do. No matter how carelessly he had used Potter as a shield against Finnigan's barbs earlier that day, he didn't actually know how Potter would react to his presence. He could make things easier for Draco or immeasurably more difficult. The others would surely grow stronger in their disdain for him if Potter felt the same, and Draco didn't have any illusions, especially given his and Potter's turbulent history, that the wizard would act particularly gracious toward him.

Draco's stomach growled and churned, and he shook his head. There was nothing for it. He had to venture into the proverbial lion's den, because he refused to starve instead.

He quietly sat down at the furthest edge of the table, but the cheerful banter cut out into a gnawing silence just the same. He stared straight ahead, resolutely ignoring their attention as he scooped some mince pie onto his plate and filled his goblet with pumpkin juice. He tried not to let it show that his heart was racing a mile a minute, but his wand hand shook as he pushed the goblet to his lips.

"Sorry, Harry." Finnigan, of course. "I told that Death Eater scum to leave, but he won't. I don't even know why he's come back anyway."

Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him from where he sat across the table, but Draco didn't deign to look back. Potter's voice, however, was louder than Finnigan's hushed whisper, and his tone was unconcerned. "I don't mind."

Draco put down his goblet, the tightness in his shoulders unwinding a bit as silence consumed the other end of the table.

"Well, I do." That was the Hufflepuff boy, Zacharias Smith, Draco thought he was called. He also thought he was a complete tosspot.

"Then you can go eat somewhere else," Weasley retorted heatedly, apparently in agreement with Draco.

Draco was shocked to say the least, but it sounded as though there was some bad history between Weasley and Smith that, incredibly, overshadowed any ill will Weasley still held for Draco. It was a bit difficult to believe that a Hufflepuff could beat Draco out in that category, but Weasley's quick temper was known to rival Potter's, and Draco could see the irritating Hufflepuff worming his way under his skin.

"How can you defend him?" Finnigan accused.

"I'm not!" Weasley denied hastily, obviously squeamish at the very notion.

Draco glared down the table at him, and opened his mouth, fully intending to tell the ginger idiot just how little he required his addle-brained defense anyway, but Granger interjected.

"Just ignore him, Ron."

"Oh, I see how it is," Finnigan broke in angrily. "You three are too big to concern yourselves with the likes of us, are you?"

"No, that's not—!" Hermione denied exasperatedly, but Finnigan wasn't listening.

"You think that just because you've been in all the papers, you're the only ones with the right to an opinion, are you?"

"Hey, that's not—!" Weasley cut in, his tone growing heated, but he was cutoff as well.

"I can see that," Smith interjected unhelpfully, sharing a look with Finnigan. "They've always been a bit self-righteous, thinking they were the only ones who'd deserved praise when a lot of us fought and died for the cause."

"What? " Weasley squawked, jumping up from his chair, and pointing his wand threateningly in Smith's face. "Say that again or I'll—!"

"Ron—!" Granger warned, placing a hand on his arm to stay him, but he ignored her and she was reduced to frowning exasperatedly at him.

"You two have no idea what we went through!" Weasley retorted furiously, and a bit self-righteously, if Draco wasn't mistaken.

Draco tried not to roll his eyes.

"See what I mean?" Smith pounced predictably on the Weasel's slip-up, and Finnigan nodded.

"The Golden Trio are too good for us," Finnigan agreed sarcastically. "Think we couldn't possibly have suffered as much as they had during the war."

"Seamus, don't be daft!" the Gryffindor Patil twin, who had been scowling for a while now, finally jumped in. "You know that's not true. You were there the day they came back to Hogwarts. You know what they'd gone through and how much they'd appreciated our help."

Longbottom, Brown, Boot, Goldstein, and Bones all nodded vigorously in agreement. Draco knew they had all been in Potter's D.A the day of the battle.

Finnigan's expression crumpled and he murmured petulantly under his breath, "We all know how much fame can change people."

"That's complete bollocks, and you know it!" Weasley retorted, his reddened face clashing horribly with his hair.

"Doesn't sound like it," Smith stated with a sneer to rival Draco's own. Draco had a sudden suspicion that the Hufflepuff would have done well in Slytherin, but he was glad the Sorting Hat had seen fit to spare Slytherin House the suffering.

"Say that again, or I'll—!" Weasley growled, leaning further over the table as Granger practically held onto his midsection.

"Ron, stop it!"

Lavender Brown glared daggers at Smith, and Draco unwillingly remembered her torrid affair with Weasley in Sixth Year. As well as the horrible break up. As preoccupied as he had been that year, he wouldn't have even been aware of it if it weren't for the fact that Pansy had been absolutely delighted when that 'Gryffindor whore' had gotten what was coming to her. Draco had been subjected to her gleeful gossip pertaining to Weasley and Brown's dysfunctional falling out for days on end. After everything he had unwillingly heard about the whole affair, he was honestly surprised Brown was still on good terms with the Weasel, but she was defending him. "You should talk, Zacharias. You didn't even fight that night!"

For the first time, Smith was caught wrong-footed and he flushed. "Well, I'll have you know –"

"Just forget it, alright?" Potter interjected, glancing between Smith, Finnigan and Weasley with a quelling look, although there was little heat to it. "It's over. The war's over."

The phrase, _time to move on_ , percolated through Draco's thoughts. Potter's gaze slid to lock with his and it was almost as if he knew Draco had thought it. Draco was immediately seized with a desire to look away and break the oddly private connection, but he didn't. It was Potter who broke it first, his gaze distant as he turned his attention back to the others. Draco was reminded of that day in the Great Hall months ago, when he'd noticed Potter's detached expression, and he now realized that it hadn't left. Not truly. It was like Potter wasn't quite there anymore, and the notion was oddly disturbing.

The table had gone silent, but Finnigan was fuming and Smith was appropriately red in the face. Draco smirked despite himself. Sometimes it paid to have the Savior on your side. Even people who disagreed with him couldn't quite bring themselves to openly defy him. It was the first time Draco was grateful for Potter's status.

He glanced at Potter to see him speaking lowly to Weasley as Granger rubbed a consoling hand over her still red-faced boyfriend's back. It appeared to be a familiar practice for them, and Draco didn't begrudge Potter having to deal with that all of last year. Although, something like molten lead dropped into his stomach at how close the three of them were. Even now, they looked to be ensconced in their own little world, completely engrossed in one another.

Draco could feel Finnigan and Smith glaring at him, and he went back to eating his meal. He didn't want to stay there much longer. No matter what Potter had said to the others, he would never be welcomed, and he would never belong. Suddenly, he wished Vince and Greg were beside him. Neither of them had been particularly engaging company, but at the very least he hadn't been alone. The lead simmered in Draco's stomach and his scarred hand itched.

Vince. He had been such an _idiot_.

Back in the dorm, Draco made sure to take a quick shower before any of the other boys returned, and he spelled his curtains closed just as he heard voices in the common room below. He cast a silence and impervious charm on his curtains and closed his eyes, hoping for a quick nod off. The screams weren't as loud this time, and he drifted into a fitful sleep, trying not to see the tortured souls behind his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to purge all my old fanfic accounts. So I'm re-uploading this here. I'm sad because that meant I had to lose all the comments and kudos, but that's life. More to come.
> 
> Btw, I'm angels-are-robots on Tumblr. Feel free to follow or message me there if you like.


	2. Is a Towering Wall

Draco woke up earlier than he would have liked the next morning, but he waited until noon before getting out of his four-poster. He sent his broom a longing look, but he could see the others on the pitch again, so he opted for making a trip to the owlery instead. He'd been missing breakfast and the morning post since he'd arrived, and he suspected his mother had sent him at least one package in the interim.

As he'd expected, his eagle owl, Elatus, was perched in the rafters with a small package tied to his leg. The owl looked down at him disdainfully, and Draco scowled up at him in return.

"Come on, you daft bird, now's not the time to be living up to your name," he muttered exasperatedly. "An owl who can't deliver a package properly hasn't much to be proud of anyway."

Elatus hooted and sent him a predictably petulant look, before he finally swooped down to an impost beside Draco. Draco rolled his eyes. He'd never thought much of his owl or his mood swings. His father had picked the bird out at Eeylops as a present for his eleventh birthday, which, in hindsight, had doomed his owl's temperament from the start.

Draco smirked at the belligerent owl as he untied the package from its leg. "That's right. Obey your master."

Elatus bit his thumb and Draco yelped in dismay. The bird merely puffed up in a self-satisfied way. Draco glared as he sucked on the wounded digit. He really hated that owl.

"See if I don't replace you," he muttered as he took his thumb out of his mouth and opened the package.

The good-for-nothing bird just hooted smugly before flying back up into the rafters.

His mother had sent him some sweets with a short note. Draco read through it carefully, before folding it up and putting it into his bag along with the sweets. The note was generic enough, sending him her love and asking after his health. She didn't say much about her own welfare, except that she was busying herself in the gardens of the Manor. Draco smiled a bit to himself at the image of her tending her Rue and Snowdrop blossoms on the sunlit grounds, free to cultivate her one remaining passion. When the Dark Lord had been staying in the Manor, she hadn't even had that.

When he entered the library, Draco was surprised to see Potter alone at a table. He was sat by a window with a large tome opened in front of him and a quill idly resting between his thumb and forefinger. Potter didn't appear to be much engrossed by his reading though, as he absentmindedly gazed out the window toward the Quidditch pitch. Just beyond the stained glass, Draco could see the other Eighth Years swooping through the sky, and he wondered why Potter wasn't out there with them.

Draco hadn't realized his feet had carried him to Potter's table until his knee bumped into one of the chairs, making its legs screech unpleasantly against the floor as it moved. Potter turned his head toward him then and Draco froze stupidly as recognition lit up Potter's face.

"Malfoy." Potter nodded courteously, as though this was a perfectly common occurrence between them.

"Potter." Draco nodded jerkily back, trying to keep his heart out of his throat.

Potter carelessly turned back to gaze out the window. Draco looked around. He didn't really want to sit there as there were plenty of other tables in the empty library, but he recognized it would be odd if he didn't do so now. So he reluctantly pulled out the chair and unpacked his things.

He sat and stared unseeingly at the scrawled text in his NEWTs textbook, _Advanced Potion Making_ by Libatius Borage. He found that he couldn't focus on his work with Potter sitting right there. It was more than a bit unnerving. Potter, however, didn't seem to notice or care that Draco was there, and Draco resolved to just get over it. That was easier said than done, however. A full twenty minutes later, he had barely gotten through one paragraph about Hiccoughing Solution and he wanted to hex himself.

"Do you have extra ink? I'm out."

In the midst of berating himself, it took a moment for Draco to realize Potter had said something to him, and when he looked up he was startled by Potter's expectant gaze.

"Erm…yeah," Draco replied lamely. He absently wondered how Potter could even need extra ink when he clearly hadn't been writing anything, but then Potter was riffling through his own bag for some parchment, and Draco searched through his own for an ink pot. Draco found the pot nestled between a jar of nettles and an old Potions essay. It was filled with his favorite Slytherin-green ink, and he handed it to Potter.

"Thanks." Potter smiled a bit as he inspected the unusual color. Then he set it beside his parchment and dipped his quill.

Draco stared at him for a bit before turning to his own book. He thought that may have been the longest civil interaction they had ever held between them, and he didn't know how to feel about that. It was a lot easier to concentrate afterward though, and he found himself engrossed completely in his studies until his stomach growled insistently.

Draco looked up to see it was already dark outside the windows and his table was empty. Potter had left and he hadn't even noticed. His extra ink pot with the green ink sat innocently near his wand hand and he picked it up, screwing it tightly closed before putting it into his bag. He packed his things and nodded curtly to Madam Pince, who seemed unable to decide whether to glower or ignore him, as he exited the library.

Potter wasn't present in the Great Hall when he arrived, but just as he sat down he could hear the others questioning Weasley and Granger about it. He didn't look over at any of them, especially Finnigan whom he could feel was sending him dark looks, and he pretended to busily plate his food while he listened.

"…meeting with McGonagall," Granger informed them. "He won't be eating in the Great Hall tonight."

"Is that where he was all day?" Thomas asked. "Only, I'd asked him this morning if he wanted to fly with us, but he said he had something to do."

"Oh, no," Granger replied, looking a bit confused. "I don't know where he was earlier. His meeting was at seven."

Draco glanced at her, a bit surprised.

"He didn't tell you?" Longbottom asked.

"Well, no." Granger blushed and shared a look with Weasley.

"We were a bit busy," Weasley finished for her, his ears turning conspicuously pink.

Draco thought he might have lost his appetite. Brown looked particularly green, herself, but a couple of the boys wolf-whistled.

"Shut up," Weasley retorted, going even redder, although he was smiling.

"So when's the big wedding day?" Finch-Fletchley asked, and a couple of girls beside him giggled.

Draco tuned out at that point, wanting to actually be able to ingest his food. He left shortly afterward as raucous laughter overtook that end of the table. He didn't even want to know what had caused it.

Upon entering the common room, he was surprised to bump into Potter, who was apparently on his way out. Potter nodded to him and he returned it, followed by an awkward sort of shuffle before they could get past one another. Then Potter was gone. Draco paused for a moment at the oddity of it, then made his way up to the dormitory.

Later, upon exiting the shower, Draco's gaze caught upon a strange pinprick of light through one of the windows to his right. He hastily riffled through his trunk until he found the pair of omnioculars his father had bought him at the Quidditch World Cup four years ago, and placed them in front of his eyes, zooming in on the lake. What he saw made him stiffen.

Potter was standing on the small island beside Dumbledore's tomb, and shining some bluish wand light upon the lettering engraved into its side. Draco watched as Potter just stood there, unmoving. After a long moment, Potter fell upon his knees and placed a hand against the white limestone. He bent forward, resting his forehead against the stone, then his wand light extinguished, pitching the area into darkness. Draco pulled the omnioculars away from his face and just stood there for a long moment, looking out into the night where Potter had been and probably still was.

Draco saw Dumbledore's lined face behind his eyelids as he settled into sleep that night, his serene expression belying his gruesome fate. Guilt was a familiar companion and Draco wore it like a cloak, shielding him from his regular tormentors.

Draco found Potter in the library the next day, sat at the very same table and gazing out the window. It only took a moment of indecision before Draco walked over to the table and sat in the chair he'd used the day before.

Potter glanced over at him and nodded.

Draco nodded back, and busied himself with taking out his supplies.

"You didn't come to breakfast."

Draco looked up, startled by Potter's voice. Potter was watching him with a curious expression, and Draco just shook his head, deciding he'd think about the oddity of Potter's sociability later. "I slept in."

Potter nodded, his expression neutral, and a silence fell over the table once again.

Draco rummaged through his bag for his ink pot, but grew frustrated when minutes ticked by and he couldn't find it. He pulled out his wand, muttered, "Accio ink pot" and flicked it, but nothing happened. He grimaced, uncomfortable that Potter would be witness to this ineptitude. He flicked his wand again. Nothing. He scowled.

"You're not using your wand," Potter observed pointlessly, and Draco sent him an incredulous look, but Potter wasn't cowed in the least, his bespectacled gaze unwavering, and he clarified. "Your old one, I mean."

"Oh, well spotted, Potter," Draco sneered, rolling his new wand between his fingers and glaring at it.

"Why not?"

Draco looked at him, unsure what to say. He hedged. "I've acquired a better one."

"Hm," Potter grunted noncommittally. He eyed Draco's new wand as he tried to flick it again to no effect. "It was a good wand though, your old one. Helped me out a bit."

Draco grimaced, and muttered, "Yes, I'm aware."

He could feel Potter watching him, but he didn't acknowledge it, flicking his wand more violently and muttering the charm again under his breath.

"It's yours now, you know," Potter murmured.

Draco stopped flicking and placed the infernal stick on the table before glancing back at Potter's earnest stare.

"It won't betray you," Potter continued.

Draco frowned a bit, and had to look away, uncomfortable that Potter had uncovered his fear so easily. Was he so obvious? "How do you know?"

"I just…do," Potter replied simply.

"That's very helpful," Draco muttered snidely, and he looked back at green eyes. "And I suppose you couldn't possibly be wrong."

"I'm not."

"Of course," Draco let out a short, sardonic laugh. "The _Savior_ is never wrong."

"Certainly not."

Draco scowled at him but was shocked to see the corners of Potter's mouth twitch, something sparking in his perpetually dull eyes. Draco couldn't help the upward twitch of his lips in return. "Alright, I'll take your word for it this once, Potter."

"Because I'm the Savior?" Potter questioned dryly, but Draco could hear the humor there.

"Because you're an arrogant git," Draco corrected primly.

"Says the pot to the kettle," Potter rejoined.

Draco bristled, but something in Potter's benign expression stilled him. He eyed him for a moment, letting his shoulders relax. "Touché."

Draco flicked his wand more violently this time, determined to make it work, but Potter interrupted him yet again.

"Accio ink pot," he muttered with a lazy flick and two ink pots flew out of Draco's bag and slapped against his palm where he grasped them easily.

Draco scowled.

"Sorry," Potter said sheepishly. "I think my wand knew I needed your extra ink again."

"Right," Draco muttered, eyeing Potter dubiously. "Do you always let your wand make decisions for you?"

Potter tipped his head and actually appeared thoughtful as he placed the ink pots on the table. " _Let_ is a bit too strong of a word. That would suppose I actually had control over it."

"You mean to tell me you don't?" Draco's brows knit in disbelief. Surely Potter was having him on.

Potter shrugged. "Not entirely. I reckon I can't complain though. It's saved me before."

Draco stared at him, nonplussed. "I think you've been cursed one too many times in the head, Potter."

Potter sent him a confounded look, but instead of becoming angry as Draco had half expected, he burst out laughing.

Draco watched Potter chuckle with growing unease. Potter had truly lost it, and here Draco was, witness to his descent into madness.

"I must be mad," Potter gasped as if he'd read Draco's mind. Though, he seemed to get a hold of himself and smiled at Draco. "I actually agree with you." He emphasized the point by tapping his forehead with his finger, right where the once angry red scar now sat innocuously pale against his skin.

"Right." Draco eyed him warily and wondered if he was going to start sniggering again over some other equally morbid topic, but Potter merely sat back and grinned at him. Draco frowned. "I'm going to study now."

"Right." Potter shrugged, losing some of his unsettling levity, and he passed Draco his ink pot.

"Thanks," Draco grunted.

"Don't mention it," Potter replied, his tone growing distant again. He promptly turned to gaze out the window just as Finch-Fletchley and Smith zoomed by, wrestling with a Quaffle.

Draco read several paragraphs in _Advanced Potion Making_ and jotted down a few notes, before he thought to glance at Potter again and found him in the exact same position.

"You don't seem to need that ink," he muttered.

"I'll use it eventually," Potter replied distractedly.

Draco looked out the window to see a group of Eighth Years celebrating a goal. He wished to Merlin that Finnigan wasn't on that particular team. He glanced back at Potter, bemused. "Why aren't _you_ out there with them?"

Potter shrugged, his eyes a bit dull once again as he glanced back at Draco.

Draco frowned.

"Why aren't _you_ out there?" Potter questioned.

Draco sent him a dry look. "Do you really need to ask?"

"No," Potter replied, shaking his head, a smile curving his lips.

"Tosser," Draco muttered, but his irritation was muted. Maybe he just didn't have the energy for it anymore. The constant thrum of anger he used to survive on, itching under his skin, was gone, and it had been replaced by a sort of numbness that he didn't care to examine.

Potter seemed to sense that, because his smile stayed put and he shrugged. "Pot, kettle."

"Why aren't you with Granger and the Weasel?" Draco questioned, for want of anything better to say.

Potter grimaced. "Ron and Hermione are my best mates, but…" his voice trailed off.

"They're on each other like Nifflers on a Galleon," Draco concluded dryly.

"You've noticed?" Potter asked.

"It's put me off my dinner," Draco complained.

"I can't say you're the only one." Potter admitted, leaning forward like it was a secret.

Draco shuddered. "I'm surprised you've lasted the Summer."

"It's not that bad."

Draco stared at him, unimpressed.

"Right. It _is_ that bad, but…" Potter trailed off, clearly struggling to find some sort of positive aspect of the situation.

"Anything that forces you into the company of an ex-Death Eater is _quite_ bad, Potter," Draco informed him.

Potter's lips twitched. "I think I'll live."

Draco eyed him. "Given that it's you, you're probably right."

Potter's smile dissipated and the green in his eyes dulled once again. He sat back, appearing to get lost in a memory. Draco fidgeted a bit, but he was curious.

"Did it hurt?"

Potter looked back at him, his expression unreadable, but he seemed to understand what Draco was asking. He shook his head. "I didn't feel anything."

Draco stared at him for a few moments, remembering Potter's accounts of the Dark Lord's avadakedavra before asking, "Does your scar…was it really…?"

"A piece of his soul?" Potter finished wryly, Draco nodded, and Potter's expression turned thoughtful. "I'm not sure if a piece of Tom's soul wasn't attached somewhere else or even to a specific part of me, but the scar isn't really there anymore, so…" He shrugged.

Draco nodded, but his skin was crawling at the very idea of having a piece of the Dark Lord's soul attached to his. He supposed Potter was lucky he hadn't found that out until the last moments. That kind of knowledge could drive any wizard mad.

"Do you still have it?" Potter asked.

Draco sent him a questioning look, but then his green gaze flicked down to Draco's left arm. _Ah, that_ , Draco thought, and he shook his head. "No, it died with him."

He rolled up his sleeve to show the pale expanse of skin for Potter's perusal.

"Good," Potter stated seriously. He actually looked a fair bit relieved.

"Yes, never fear, I can no longer contaminate you," Draco stated bitterly.

Potter surveyed him for a moment, and Draco had to look away, pretending to find a tall stack of books perched beside their table particularly engaging.

"Draco," Potter stated into the silence, and Draco startled a bit at the sound of his given name in Potter's voice. "I don't think I have to worry about being contaminated by _you_." Potter tapped his scar meaningfully. "Besides, he's gone now. It doesn't matter anymore."

Draco stared at him, his mouth going dry. "You'd said that to the others."

"I'd meant it," Potter shrugged. "The war's over. It's time to…well, you know."

"Yeah." And Draco couldn't help the twitch of his lips at Potter's answering half-smile.

Up until this point, Draco couldn't have ever imagined conversing so casually with Potter. As if they might have been friends. It was surreal, to say the least. His childhood dream. The Potter of a year ago would have blown up at him for some of the things he'd said today, and Draco would have probably fed the rage with a series of caustic remarks. This new Potter was a lot more relaxed and introspective, slightly above it all. It was a bit unnerving. He wondered if that's what happened when one met Death and had the choice to come back. He imagined, after that, nothing much more could bother you.

"You're different, Potter."

Potter's eyes widened a bit, before sending Draco a considering look. "So are you, Malfoy."

"Hm," Draco murmured noncommittally, but he supposed Potter was right. He was.

Finnigan swooped by the window, just dodging a bludger and shouting out a series of expletives. Draco and Potter watched him fly away to rejoin the game.

"You would be one of the first to think so," Draco muttered bitterly.

"Not everyone has been able to put the past behind them," Potter stated, expression far away again.

"No, I suppose not." Draco agreed, and really, he couldn't blame them. Then his perennially empty stomach growled, loudly.

"Hungry, Malfoy?" Potter smirked, his brow raised.

"Shut it, Potter," Draco retorted. "I haven't eaten since last night."

Potter visibly sobered, eyeing him. "You know, you don't have to go to the Great Hall to get food."

"Spare me," Draco stated disbelievingly. "The Elves are too busy to send room service, especially for me."

Potter shook his head. "It's not room service. Haven't you ever gone to the kitchens?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, covering up his dismay at not knowing something that Potter did with a sneer. "Why would I debase myself by going there? It's teeming with house elves."

Potter rolled his eyes, and got up from his seat. "It's better than starving. Come on."

Draco stared back at him stubbornly, but then his traitorous stomach growled again, and Potter sent it a meaningful glance before locking gazes with him. Draco huffed. "Alright, you make a persuasive argument."

"You mean your stomach did," Potter quipped.

Draco shot him a glare but packed away his things as Potter did the same. Potter passed him his unused green ink pot and Draco packed that last, before standing up and watching Potter expectantly. "Lead the way, Potter."

He followed Potter down two floors into the west basement, and although Draco had never actually been in these halls before, he recognized that this must be near the Hufflepuff Dormitories, as he'd seen many of them over the years traipsing down to this level after classes and meals. It looked relatively undamaged down here, having been spared from much of the battle last spring, except for a few empty stone podiums that looked like they had once supported suits of armor. The occupants of the portraits watched them with great interest, until they both stopped in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit.

Potter stepped forward and tickled what looked to be a pear, it giggled, and Potter grinned back at him.

"You've got to be joking," Draco muttered flatly as the painting swung forward and revealed an opening beyond.

"After you." Potter gestured toward the hole.

Draco frowned, but he walked passed Potter through the opening. The kitchen was bustling when he entered. Hogwarts Elves swarming about steaming pots and pans, carrying trays and heavenly smelling foods, and levitating various ingredients through the air. He jumped a bit as Potter stepped up beside him when an elf popped into view, speaking in a squeaky voice.

"Young Masters is wanting some food?" She asked without missing a beat, as if two students stumbling into the kitchens was quite a regular occurrence. She gazed up at them with large bulbous eyes, wearing only a tea towel with a Hogwarts crest sewn into it.

"Yes, please," Potter replied easily, evidently right at home.

"We is having Shepherd's Pie, peas, and Treacle Tart tonight, Sirs," she informed them. "But Nibby can be making something else if Young Masters is wishing!"

"That's fine," Potter replied, glancing at Draco.

"Er…yes," Draco muttered lamely. "That's fine, thanks."

Potter's eyes widened a bit at that, but Nibby nearly bounced out of her skin with pride.

"As Young Masters is wishing!" She squeaked, and suddenly half a dozen elves levitated some full plates toward them, along with two goblets of pumpkin juice.

Potter thanked them again and then Draco followed him out, their arms laden with food. As they walked back toward the Eighth Year dorms, Draco could feel Potter staring at him and he grew uncomfortable.

"What?"

"I think Hermione would die of shock if she'd heard you thank a House Elf," Harry uttered, still watching him oddly.

"Surprised that I can be decent once and a while?" Draco snapped, stung by Potter's astonishment more than he'd like to admit.

"No," Potter instantly denied, but then he paused at Draco's look. "Well, _yes_ …it's just…" He looked away uncomfortably. "You really have changed, Malfoy."

Draco sighed tiredly, the smell of the food wafting up to his nose and making his stomach ache with hunger. "I've never been particularly fond of House Elves, don't get me wrong, but I've found I don't have much taste for..." He paused and licked his lips, debating whether he should reveal more, but something in Potter's gaze compelled him to continue, to give up something he'd barely acknowledged even to himself. "I can't...I'm not like my father."

"No," Potter agreed solemnly after a moment, glancing at a large, shimmering hole in the wall as they walked passed it, before he regarded him again, his green eyes sharper in the torchlight. "I suppose not."

Something tight in Draco's chest unwound and he looked away. They'd made it to the Griffin and Potter muttered the password. It unfurled its wings and revealed the entrance. Potter followed him into the mercifully empty common room and they sat down in a set of plush chairs by the fire. Draco set into his meal without preamble, his ravenous hunger getting the best of him, and Potter followed his lead. They ate in an oddly companionable silence for a while, before Potter finally took a gulp of pumpkin juice and spoke.

"It's going to be strange when the rest of the school arrives in two days."

Draco nodded a bit, his shoulders tightening. He dreaded it, actually. It only meant the halls would be more crowded and it would be harder to avoid people who might fancy making life difficult for him. If Finnigan and Smith were any indication, there would be plenty of others in that category, namely, the lower year members of the former D.A. Potter seemed to be having similarly negative thoughts with the way his expression twisted. This surprised Draco until he realized Potter must have been dreading the increased attention. He'd never noticed just how much Potter hated his fame until the war was over and Draco had lost all reason to deny what he now recognized had always been so glaringly obvious.

"Your girlfriend will be back, I presume," Draco stated just as he remembered it, and something in his gut twisted inexplicably at the thought.

Potter looked uncomfortable as he pushed a hand through his hair. "She's not my…" He sighed, releasing his already messy hair so that it stood up at even more odd angles. Draco's mild obsessive-compulsiveness made him itch to smooth it, but he abstained, of course. Draco would have to control himself even more now that he and Potter had inexplicably reached such an accord. Maybe, if the situation became desperate, he could just send a well-placed hair smoothing charm when Potter wasn't looking. Potter shook his head, oblivious to Draco's musings. "It's a bit complicated."

"Hm," Draco murmured, ripping his attention away from the truly ridiculous state of Potter's coif, and he sent Potter a sly look. "Is the She-Weasel lacking in bed?"

Potter, who had just been swallowing some pumpkin juice, choked and promptly spit some out.

"Smooth," Draco chuckled.

Potter's cheeks bloomed a ruddy pink. "You really shouldn't call her that. And anyway...it's not like…we hadn't exactly…"

Draco's eyebrows rose, his mouth twitching upward in shocked amusement as he mentally clocked all that he knew of Potter's dating history at Hogwarts. "Oh, this is too good. You're a _virgin_ , Potter?"

Potter glared at him, which told Draco more than anything that he was right. Predictably, Potter became defensive. "Well, it's not as if we had a lot of time. I mean…you try shagging your best mate's sister in a crowded boarding school dormitory. It's not exactly the easiest thing to do."

"This coming from someone who made a habit of sneaking into places he didn't belong and managed to defeat the most powerful Dark Wizard of our time," Draco stated wryly.

Potter scowled at him. "Exactly. I was busy."

Draco shook his head and chuckled in disbelief. "I can't say I expected that."

"I suppose the rumors are true about you, then?" Potter questioned with a glower.

Draco glanced at him, bemused. "Rumors?"

"The ones about you bedding every girl in Slytherin and some outside of it," Potter informed him dryly.

Draco stared at him, shocked, and then he barked out a laugh. "Who's been passing about those rumors? I've been regrettably ignorant."

"Some Slytherin girls, I reckon," Potter replied mulishly. "You've seriously never heard that?"

"No," Draco stated honestly. "Although, I have to say, I wish I had. I could have played it to my advantage."

Potter eyed him for a moment. "So you haven't had a string of conquests from Slytherin to Hufflepuff?"

"Potter," Draco grimaced with disgust. "Could you really see me shagging a Hufflepuff?"

"Not willingly, no." Potter's lips twitched, his eyes flashing reluctant amusement.

"Funny," Draco sneered. "Real charming."

"So," Potter said with a small frown. "I reckon it was Pansy."

"Yes," Draco confirmed, and grimaced. "One point for Potter."

"That bad?" Potter asked.

"I suppose it could have been worse," Draco allowed, although he secretly doubted it. Draco had barely been able to get it up before he'd realized he was into blokes. It had not been the most pleasant of evenings, and he'd avoided Pansy like the plague ever since.

"No one else?" Potter asked, looking amused, the tosser.

Draco shook his head. "I can see you're disappointed. I'm sure my possessing unrivaled sexual prowess is quite a thrilling prospect."

Potter chuckled. "Try mortifying."

Draco glared at him. "If our positions were reversed, the feeling would be mutual, I assure you." But he couldn't keep heat from flooding his cheeks at the thought. They both fell into silence after that, Draco finishing his meal as Potter picked at his peas.

"I wonder if we'll be able to play Quidditch," Potter murmured, the firelight glinting off his glasses as he looked into the fireplace thoughtfully.

Draco thought about it. He wanted to play again, but he was unsure how. It would be awkward to play for Slytherin House when he wasn't quite a part of it anymore, and a team made up of just Eighth Years would undoubtedly include Finnigan and Smith. Neither option was particularly desirable. Besides, if they did form an Eighth Year team, he would be on the same team as Potter and they'd have to compete for the Seeker position. Draco didn't much want to play in any other capacity, and he knew Potter felt the same. "I don't see much chance of it."

"True," Potter conceded with obvious disappointment. "Seamus, Dean, and most of the others seem to want to play though. At the very least, we might be able to start up an informal club."

Draco shrugged noncommittally. He wasn't sure he'd join such a club. He wasn't planning to impose his company on people who clearly detested him.

Suddenly, Draco felt a curious jolt of panic as he heard the voices of others entering the common room. He and Potter peered behind their seats to see Weasley and Granger stumbling through the entrance portal, both flushed and giggling. Draco locked gazes with Potter. Potter raised his eyebrows exasperatedly but his lips twitched, and Draco couldn't help from snorting with amusement.

"Harry? Malfoy?"

Draco and Potter both looked back, eyes watering, to find Weasley and Granger staring at them with varying degrees of shock and embarrassment.

"Ron," Potter greeted easily as Weasley continued to gape at them. "Hermione."

"Hello, Harry," Hermione greeted, smoothing down some imaginary wrinkles in her robes, before glancing at Draco uncertainly. "Malfoy."

"Granger," Draco greeted carefully.

"Wait," Weasley broke in, apparently having gotten over some of his shock as he eyed their positions in front of the fire and the empty plates on the table in front of them. "Were you two just… _eating_ together?"

He'd said it as though he'd just caught them crucio-ing kittens, and Draco had to roll his eyes. "Yes, I understand your astonishment, Weasley, but I too, in all my glorious perfection, require the same sustenance as you mere mortals."

He could hear Potter snort beside him, and Weasley stared at Potter, wide-eyed, as if he'd never seen him before.

Weasley stepped forward cautiously. "Ok, who are you and what have you done with…yourselves?"

"Oh, well stated, Weasley. I've always admired your intelligence," Draco sneered. "It's a wonder you haven't bypassed NEWTs entirely."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Weasley growled, but Potter interrupted him before he could build up any steam.

"We didn't feel like eating in the Great Hall and I showed Malfoy the kitchens," Harry said. "It's not that big of a deal."

Weasley sent him an incredulous look, but Potter stared back at him levelly, and he finally backed off, putting up his hands. "Okay, mate. As long as you're all right."

Draco caught the way Potter stiffened, but Weasley seemed to miss the reaction entirely as he shot Draco a suspicious look. Draco stared back at him flatly. "Yes, I'm sure the defeater of the Dark Lord has much to fear from me. Can barely take care of himself, this one."

Potter seemed to relax and he sent him a grin. Draco's lips twitched. Potter looked back at Weasley, his expression edging on exasperation. "I'm alright, Ron. Don't worry."

"Hm," Weasley grunted noncommittally, and Granger placed a hand on his shoulder. She shared a meaningful look with Weasley, then she looked between Draco and Potter. When her gaze settled upon Potter, a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Goodnight, Harry," she finally stated, placing a kiss to the top of his head as she passed. Potter smiled at her as Weasley clapped him on the shoulder. She glanced back at Draco with an oddly shrewd expression. "Goodnight to you too, Malfoy."

"Goodnight," Draco replied, wondering what Granger thought she knew as she separated from Weasley and made her way up to the girl's dorm.

Weasley paused at the foot of the steps before turning around and addressing Potter, he didn't even glance at Draco. "I'll see you tomorrow morning then, Harry. I'm knackered."

"Goodnight, Ron," Potter nodded.

Weasley lingered a bit, apparently finding it hard to leave Potter alone with Draco, but Potter kept staring at him until he finally grunted a soft, "Goodnight," and made his way up the staircase.

"That went well," Draco muttered with a smirk when Potter turned back around to face the fire.

"Yeah, actually," Potter said. "Better than expected, really."

Draco looked at their empty plates and felt a bit of disappointment. "You realize we'll have to return these, don't you?"

Potter glanced at him and then back at the plates, realization dawning on his face and making him grimace. "Oh, yeah. Now that you mention it."

"Let's do it in the morning," Draco suggested, suddenly feeling drained. "I need a shower and I don't fancy a run-in with the rest of the dorm."

"Okay," Potter agreed, looking relieved, and they both got up.

When Draco fell into bed half-an-hour later, he forgot to ward his curtains, and his mind was blissfully silent. When he fell to sleep, it was deep and uninterrupted. The best sleep he'd had in a long time.


	3. And the Road is a Dark Bookend

“Malfoy.”

Something was poking Draco in the shoulder and he turned over, whining under his breath.

“Draco.”

Draco’s eyes snapped open to see Potter leaning over him, face lit from below by the tip of his wand.  Draco yelped, but a calloused hand clapped over his mouth, and his exclamation of, “Potter?!” was severely muffled to the point of incoherency.

“Shhh.” Potter placed a finger against his own lips and turned to glance back behind him through the half-opened bed curtains. 

Draco pulled Potter’s hand off of his mouth, and hissed, “What are you doing in my bed?”

Potter frowned, then cast a quick muffliato over them both.  “I thought we’d beat everyone else to the pitch today.  You in?”

It took Draco’s sleep-addled brain a moment to process what Potter was saying, but then he nodded eagerly.  “Alright.”

“Good.”  Potter smiled.  “Come on, I’ve gotten us breakfast.”

He disappeared behind the curtains with a noisy rustle of fabric and Draco shook his head. Apparently this was Potter trying to be sneaky. He sat up, rubbing his tired eyes.  It was still dark, and it didn’t help wake him up, but he grudgingly moved to get out of bed. He pulled the curtains open and glanced surreptitiously at the rest of the dorm’s sleeping occupants.  Someone moved in their four-poster and grunted, but otherwise he couldn’t hear anything.

Potter was already standing by the door with his broom in his hand.  Draco ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, hoping it didn’t look too atrocious, and got up to find his trousers and robe.  He found a clean set folded in his trunk and visited the loo where he dressed quickly and exited before grabbing his wand and broom.

“Took you long enough,” Potter observed as Draco followed him down the staircase.

“I’m not a morning person,” Draco groused, glancing at the dark windows as they entered the common room.  “If you can even call this morning.”

Potter snorted and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.  A couple of plates filled with breakfast food sat on the table in front of him.  “Think of this as an adventure.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, before settling into a seat himself.  “Adventures are for Gryffindors.”

Potter shrugged with a twitch of his shoulders.  “The sun’s just about to rise anyway.”

Sure enough, just as Draco glanced out the windows, the sky lightened into a deep azure blue.  Potter was already digging into his eggs so Draco followed suit, glad to be ingesting something at such regular intervals.  They both made quick work of their meals in companionable silence. Potter gulped down the last of his pumpkin juice, then stood up and grabbed his broom.  Draco hastened to drain the rest of his goblet and followed suit. 

When they stepped through the Griffin portal and into the dark hallway, the torch fires had dimmed to a low burn in anticipation of the morning light, which made everything darker and colder.  Draco shivered as they made their way down a flight of moving staircases and stepped into the entrance hall.  Potter, however, seemed unperturbed by the hour or the temperature, and he grinned back at him before pushing through the front door to reveal the misty grounds beyond.  The temperature dropped again into a wet chill and Draco errantly hoped his slightly damp hair didn’t frizz up. 

Dew drops soaked into his shoes and trousers as he followed Potter onto the pitch.  He muttered a quick drying charm and flicked his wand, but nothing happened.  He scowled, glancing forward at Potter’s back to make sure he hadn’t noticed, then attempted the the charm again.  He thought he felt a mildly warm draft flit over his legs, but that could have been little more than wishful thinking.  Potter glanced back at him, and before Draco could blink he was engulfed in hot air, drying his clothes but also mussing his hair.  Draco scowled and flattened a hand over his static-laden coif.  His grimace grew when he realized he hadn’t seen Potter use his wand.

“Wandless magic, Potter?” Draco sneered, although it was a weak effort. Nothing could undercut the magnitude of what Potter had managed to do and they both knew it.

“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” Potter replied, grinning as he stopped at the edge of the pitch. 

Draco scowled.  “As always, your humility is breathtaking.”

Potter ignored him.  “You really should use your old wand,” he insisted as he gazed out over the misty pitch and the dark ring of trees beyond, then glanced over at him.  “It’ll definitely work better than _that_ one.”

Draco’s scarred hand tightened protectively around the shaft of his wand, and he looked away.  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

He could feel Potter’s eyes on him.  “Luckily, you don’t need a wand for _this_.”

Potter kicked off into the air, the early morning sky brightening around him.  Draco let out a quick breath, then pocketed his wand and mounted his broom to follow him up into the heavens.  As he rose higher and higher, he realized sullenly that the chill air failed to reach him through the power of Potter’s warming charm.  He looked up to see Potter doing loops over the horizon, riding the wind as if he was a part of it.  Draco had always envied him his raw talent.  He knew that no matter how adept he, himself, was at riding a broom, he never looked like Potter did, like he belonged in the sky. It had been a fact he had always loathed when they were in school.

Draco stopped his ascent just as the sun broke over the mountains.  A thin line of bright yellow light ran along the jagged peaks as the few lingering clouds in the sky burst into a fiery glow.  Draco couldn’t help but pause and take it all in as Potter swooped carelessly through the tableau, his body silhouetted against the fiery sky. Potter eventually dropped to hover in the air beside him, and Draco glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The sunlight glowed across Potter’s face and shown in his eyes as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair.  Potter seemed to be taking it all in as if it was for the first time.

“It’s beautiful,” Potter murmured, his lips curved into a soft smile. Draco’s heart skipped a beat like he'd missed a step going down the stairway.

Disconcerted and flushed, Draco hastily turned his attention back to the view as the sun's light pooled out over the top of the forest like a rising tide, and long shadows grew across the pitch from the tree line.  There had been a point in his life, not too long ago, when Draco had thought he would never see this again.  He had either been doomed to a life of imprisonment in Azkaban or a gruesome death at the hands of a megalomaniac.  It had been particularly unfathomable to think that he would ever sit upon his broom and watch the sun rise beside none other than Harry Potter.  A lump grew in his throat, and he tried to swallow it down, but it left an uncomfortable, full feeling in his chest. 

Potter seemed to sense his disquiet, or maybe he was feeling it too, because he remained silent beside him. 

They hovered like that for a long while, the sun climbing over the mountains. When Potter finally spoke, his voice was soft and suspiciously rough, “Seeker’s game?”

Draco glanced at him, blearily taking in Potter’s sun-kissed visage.  Potter held out a golden snitch, its wings fluttering helplessly in his fingers.  His lips were pulled into a lopsided smile, and Draco mimicked him, his chest so full he thought it might burst. 

“You’re on, Potter.”

Potter released the snitch and their gazes followed it as the golden ball flitted into the air and disappeared.  Draco locked eyes with Potter for only a short moment, then they both dashed off after it.  They flew beside each other so closely that one misplaced elbow could send them both plummeting to the ground. It was thrilling. Potter whooped and laughed, then separated from him and looped around in the opposite direction.  Draco lowered in an attempt to follow him and ended up skimming the grass with his knees.

He remembered this feeling from his days playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, the cold wind whipping past his skin, the adrenaline surging through his veins that had nothing to do with fear or the fight for survival. He felt an inexplicable sting behind his eyes that had nothing to do with the wind in his face, and blinked. He looked up just in time to see Potter racing above him.

“Not this time, Potter!” Draco shouted, fighting past the lump in his throat, and he put on a burst of speed.

Potter pushed in front of him, body compact along his broom.  Draco bent forward and managed to catch up to him with a burst of speed. He shoved his shoulder against Potter's, hoping to push him off-balance, but Potter only grinned before veering off to the right.  Draco smirked and followed until they spiraled around each other, bumping and dodging across the pitch.  Draco realized he had stopped looking for the snitch ages ago, and he suspected Potter had as well with how erratically he was flying.  Draco’s broom vibrated with the speed they were going, and it took all of his concentration most moments just to stay connected to it, but he'd never felt so alive. He found himself pushing his broom faster than he ever had before, the world rushing past him in a rush of green and gold.

He broke away into a tight spiral and had just come up from a dangerously low dive, however, when something gold glinted in his periphery and he glanced back. It was the snitch zooming past him in the opposite direction.  He halted in midair and looked about, but he couldn’t see Potter anywhere.  He looped back around hastily and trailed the snitch’s zigzagging route with a burst of speed. He strained forward and just managed to touch the beating wings with his fingertips, but then something collided with his forearm and batted his hand away.  Potter flew across his path, green eyes glinting in triumph.

The snitch had disappeared.  Draco scowled and tore after him. 

He came alongside him and the snitch flew straight into their path as if taunting them. Draco caught Potter’s gaze for only half a second and Draco could read what he was going to do just before he put on a burst of speed.  Draco cursed and followed him, spiraling below him just as Potter’s hand reached out for the snitch.  Thinking fast, Draco desperately pulled his broom handle upward and bumped his back against the underside of Potter’s broom.  Potter yelped, almost losing his seating, and fell back. 

“Cheap shot, Malfoy!”

Draco smirked and glanced back at Potter’s scowling visage.  “That makes us even!”

Potter’s eyes flashed and he dropped downward. Draco saw why a heart-stopping moment later.  He looked down to see the snitch hovering a hundred feet below him and Potter was racing toward it.  Draco pointed his broom straight down and prayed to Merlin that he wouldn’t smash to bits into the ground, which was rising up to meet him at an alarmingly fast clip. 

His vision narrowed to the unsuspecting snitch and he bit his lip.  Potter’s fingertips were just inches from it now, his hand outstretched.  Draco pushed out his hand as well, and he could feel its wings beat against his fingers.  He didn’t think he had a chance until he saw Potter’s look of alarm.  Draco gave a strained battle cry and lunged for the snitch, snatching it out of the air.  Potter’s fingers grasped just over his, squeezing the cold, metal snitch into Draco’s palm before Potter was forced to let go. 

Draco only knew one moment of delicious triumph before his broom handle crashed violently into the ground, flipping him over and smashing his shoulder into the grass.  The momentum carried him into a roll for a fair distance before he finally came to a stop, landing flat on his back.  He stared up into the sky dazedly, the wind knocked out of him.

Potter dropped down with a thump beside him and leaned over him, his shadowed face blocking out the sunlight.  Draco squinted up at him fuzzily.

“You alright, Malfoy?” Potter asked, his mouth tugged down into a worried frown.   

“I think I’ll live,” Draco drawled, although the pain in his shoulder doubled as he raised his hand to look at the snitch.

“You’re mad,” Potter accused breathlessly, although he seemed impressed despite himself.  “Only a complete nutter would fly straight into the ground.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed.  He couldn’t keep his breath from hitching in pain as he dropped his arm back down to the grass.  “But I beat you, Potter.  Now I can die content.”

Potter shook his head and let out a breathless laugh, his expression incredulous.  “Completely mental, you are.” 

Draco nodded in agreement once again, having very little strength to argue the point.

Potter’s expression twisted with concern once again.  “Can you get up?  I think we’ll have to go see Pomfrey.”

Draco nodded and he tried to sit up.  His shoulder protested with a painful twinge, which was echoed somewhere in his midsection, and it almost sent him back to the ground but Potter snaked his arm around his back and held him up. 

“Here,” Potter spoke against Draco’s neck.  He lowered a bit so that he could pull Draco’s left arm over his shoulders. 

Draco grunted with pain, but he allowed Potter to help him to his feet, and was forced to lean heavily against him when his right ankle immediately protested the weight. 

“You’re a right mess, Malfoy,” Potter murmured, his voice strained as he readjusted his footing to compensate for Draco’s weight. 

“At least I’m not a speccy-faced git,” Draco grumbled, his vision unnervingly blurry as he squinted out upon the sunlit grounds.

“Right,” Potter stated, his tone dry.  “See if I help you again.”

Potter’s hand gripped just beneath his ribcage then and Draco hissed, seeing stars behind his eyelids.  He realized he may have damaged himself more than previously thought as blackness threatened to overtake his vision.

“Malfoy?”

“I’m alright, Potter,” Draco grunted.  “Although, I seem to have displaced a couple of my lower ribs.”

“ _Merlin_.”  Potter’s grip immediately loosened and he raised his hand to hold him up around the chest. 

Draco took a grateful, deep breath in as the painful pressure abated, and Potter took a step forward, forcing Draco to stumble along.

“You’re deceptively heavy,” Potter panted after they only managed another few more steps.  “I think you should have starved yourself longer.”

“Oh, _ha ha_ ,” Draco grunted snidely.  “Good jab, Potter.  That could have wounded me, had I been a twelve year old girl.” 

Potter opened his mouth to no doubt retort in his typically inarticulate fashion, but stopped when loud voices and laughter echoed across the pitch.  A gaggle of Eighth Years were trundling through the thinning mist, completely oblivious to Draco and Potter’s presence. 

“Shit.”  Draco shared a look with Potter and Potter started moving again.  Draco stumbled beside him, hoping the others would stay ignorant of their presence until he and Potter left the pitch, but of course, this was his life.

“Is that Harry and... _Malfoy_?”

“It is!”

“Oy, Harry!”

Potter stopped walking, leaving Draco no recourse but to stumble into him.  He cursed colorfully, then followed Potter’s gaze toward the incoming group.  Thomas was at the front, waving frantically.  The rest of the group was staring at them, their gob smacked expressions carrying various degrees of interest and, in the case of Finnigan and Smith, disgust.  Potter turned toward them as they approached, forcing Draco to reluctantly do the same.  He tried not to look so battered by pasting an expression of careless disdain onto his face, but he wasn’t certain how effective it was as he remained draped quite uselessly across Potter’s shoulders.

“Oy, Harry,” Finnigan was the next to speak, of course, as he took in Draco’s appearance with a glint of sadistic glee.  “What’s happened to Malfoy?  Did you beat him in a duel?”

“Actually, Finnigan,” Draco drawled, and tried not to wince as he raised the struggling snitch in his fist.  “I beat _him_.”

“And then the pitch beat _you_ ,” Potter muttered, his lips twitching a bit.

“Minor detail, Potter,” Draco replied airily as he tried to mask how difficult it was for him to remain standing.

The others were watching them with various expressions of shock, not dissimilar to Weasley’s impression of a land-locked merman the night before.  Draco smirked over at Finnigan, who was satisfyingly irritated by his and Potter’s apparent comaraderie. 

“I see you two have gotten friendly,” Smith observed, but his frown and narrowed eyes told everyone he didn’t think this was a positive development.

“Yes, well,” Draco drawled.  “You’ll find I’m quite engaging company.  Hard to resist, really.”

Potter snorted beside him, although it forced him into a stumble and Draco winced when more weight fell onto his twisted ankle.  Both of them had to struggle to stay upright for a moment before they balanced out again.  A couple of the girls whispered to each other and sent them speculative looks, but most of the boys were watching them with discomfited curiosity.

“More like a right pain in the arse,” Finnigan bit out, glancing between Potter and Draco and frowning.  “You sure you want to be helping him, Harry?”

“Don’t worry, Finnigan,” Draco sneered, cutting off any reply Potter might have made.  “I have no interest in hexing him.  You, on the other hand…”

“Alright,” Potter murmured with a tone of finality as Finnigan’s mouth opened to retort.  “Enough.”    

Draco stiffened and so did Finnigan.  Draco suspected Potter was sending Finnigan some sort of meaningful look, because the boy’s eyes widened a fraction before he scowled and looked away. 

“So…er…Harry,” Thomas spoke into the tense silence, glancing questioningly between Potter and Finnigan.  “Do you want to have a go with us?”

“Sorry, Dean,” Potter shrugged, his tone lighter, and he readjusted Draco’s arm over his shoulders because Draco had been threatening to slide right off.  “I need to take Malfoy to the Hospital Wing.  He waged a battle against the ground and lost.”

A majority of the Eighth Years tittered in amusement at this.  Draco could tell Finnigan and Smith were attempting not to appear amused and failing.

Draco scowled at Potter for the remark.  He would have tried to kick the arrogant tosser in the shin for good measure but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stay upright if he did. 

Said tosser merely grinned at him unapologetically.  “Come on, Malfoy.  Let’s get those ribs grown back.  You’re in for a painful night.”

Draco could feel his own face drain of color at the thought of that.  He had never been very tolerant of pain, and he recalled with horror that Potter knew what he was talking about.  He’d had to regrow bones in his right arm due to that fraud Lockhart’s lack of magical skills, and now Draco could possibly have to regrow some ribs.  How much more painful could that be?  He didn’t even want to ponder it. 

Potter turned toward the castle, making an unprepared Draco trip over his own feet, but then one of the Hufflepuff girls with a long plait of red hair falling down her back – by the name of Susan Bones, Draco thought – stepped up to them with her wand out.  Draco’s immediate reaction was to flinch, but Potter merely stopped and looked at her questioningly.

“I could help, Harry,” she murmured a bit shyly, glancing at Draco only briefly.  “I’m good at healing charms, you know.”

Potter sent Draco an inquiring look.

“Absolutely not,” Draco denied and glared at her for good measure.  The rest of the Eighth Years were murmuring to themselves and Draco didn’t have to look at Finnigan to know that he was glowering at him.  “I won’t allow a _Hufflepuff_ anywhere near me with a wand.” 

Bones's gaze hardened and she seemed to grow a backbone before his very eyes.  “It’ll just be for your ankle, Malfoy.  So you can walk back to the castle.”

Draco could hear the unspoken, _on your own_ , at the end of her statement and bristled.  He opened his mouth to deny her offer once and for all, but Potter cut across him.

“Just let her do it, Malfoy,” he muttered.  “She’s good at healing spells just like she says, and you're heavy.”

Draco scowled, and something painful that had nothing to do with his smarting ribs stabbed into his chest.  Obviously, Potter would rather be free of him.  _Fine then_ , Draco thought bitterly.  He wouldn’t force himself upon Potter if he’d rather play with his sycophantic friends.

He tried not to look at the other Eighth Years as he huffed disdainfully.  “Alright.”

“Excellent,” she replied curtly, before she kneeled down next to his ankle and swished her wand.  “Episkey.”

Draco was hardly relieved to feel the pain and swelling abate.  He tested his weight on the ankle and realized bitterly that she was, in fact, quite a skilled healer.  He could stand and walk on it with no problem.  He slid his arm off of Potter’s shoulders and tried not to wince at Potter’s sigh of relief.  Draco held his head high, working to appear unperturbed and even slightly pleased by the outcome.

He looked at Potter, who was rolling the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders as if he’d just been freed from a terrible burden.  Draco strove not to sound belligerent when he spoke, but wasn’t certain of his success. “Right, well, I suppose you’re off the hook, Potter.  Now you can run along and play with your little friends.”

Potter sent him a questioning look.  “You don’t want me to go with you?”

Draco wanted to say no, he did, but he knew that Potter was only asking out of pity and he bristled.  “I can walk now, can’t I?  I’m sure I’ll manage the journey without a Gryffindor body-guard.”

Potter looked at him speculatively for a moment, then he glanced over at the others who were all watching him, waiting.  “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Potter,” Draco bit out, his last bit of stubborn hope shriveling away into nothingness.  “I was starting to tire of the company anyway.”

“Right,” Potter stated a bit curtly, the line of his mouth thinning.  “I’ll visit you later.”

“Don’t feel obligated on my account, Potter,” Draco sneered, and he turned away before Potter could say anything in return. 

Potter didn’t reply or follow him as a small, naïve part of Draco had hoped.  Draco trudged off the pitch and into the castle without looking back.  He only glanced out of a window in the entrance hall just in time to see Potter mounting his broom and joining the others in the sky.  Draco scowled, his broken ribs aching in sympathy as he gripped the snitch tighter in his scarred hand and his broom in the other.  He made his way to the Hospital Wing, trying to forget about how the morning had begun and how it had ended.  The contrast between the two was too discomfiting to ponder, and he struggled to bury the unnervingly bereft feeling he was left with.

He passed a group of Hogwarts Elves working feverishly to reconstruct a particularly large hole in a corridor wall, fitting large chunks of magic-infused stone against each other like puzzle pieces.  Although the stones appeared mismatched at first, they quickly resized themselves to fit against their brethren, and then a few other elves fused the stones together with a snap of their fingers.  Draco knew that the only reason these holes hadn’t been patched up sooner was to avoid tampering with the complicated patchwork of ancient protective magic that permeated the castle.  Rebuilding an old magical fortress such as this was a complicated and tricky business, even more so than reconstructing a magical building at least half its age, like the Manor.  As such, he seriously doubted the elves would finish in time for the Welcome Feast in three days.  He wondered how far along they were on reconstructing the heavily hit Gryffindor Tower or the Slytherin Dungeons.  He would imagine the House dormitories had received priority status as they had to be lived in. 

In his current mood, the thought of the Dungeons left him wistful.  He wished he could pack up and move into them.  At least there he would be amongst his own kind, if not only marginally safer once term started.  He held no illusions that some Slytherins would be quite unfriendly toward him given what his mother had done at the end of the war, but at least he knew he would be safe from his unreturned year mates who would have taken the most pleasure from his misfortune.  Now that his new and feeble friendship with Potter had inevitably deteriorated, he imagined his stay in the Eighth Year dorms could only grow more uncomfortable. 

He mentally cursed Potter for being so fickle, and then cursed himself for being so ridiculously naïve.  Of course Potter would eventually choose his old friends over him.  It was only a matter of time.  After all, he and Potter had never been friends to start with.  They’d been enemies in every sense of the word.  How could Draco compete with those who had been on Potter’s side all along?  No, Draco could only rely on himself.  He couldn’t let this affect him, and he couldn’t allow anyone to see his weakness.  In a dormitory full of witches and wizards who had paid dearly to Voldemort and his ranks, Draco was an easy scapegoat.  It helped, Draco admitted ruefully, that he wasn’t exactly innocent either.

He made it to the double doors of the Hospital Wing and winced as he pushed one open, jostling his bad shoulder.  He stepped into the deserted room, wondering with no small amount of alarm if Madam Pomfrey was even in the castle yet, but was relieved to see her bustle into view from a room in the back. 

“Good Merlin, boy!” She exclaimed as she got a good look at him.  “What have you done to yourself?”

Draco held up his broom, thinking that should be obvious. 

Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned into a stern line.  “Quidditch, of course.  How many bones have you broken, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I’m hoping just my ribs,” Draco muttered with a grimace.

“Your ribs?” she squawked in alarm, and she bustled him toward a bed before pulling away the curtains.  “Oh, this will be painful.  Healing ribs is no simple matter.  Let’s hope that’s all you’ll need.  To think, the official term has yet to start!”

Draco tried not to wince.  “My shoulder isn’t exactly top-notch either.”

She sent him a harassed look, before shaking her head.  “Luckily, a shoulder is not nearly so complicated to mend, but you’ll be in quite enough discomfort already, I suspect.”

She flicked her wand and charmed the bedding open so that Draco could sit down upon the sterile mattress.  He watched her warily as she waved her wand over his body, different colored smoke ejecting from her wand tip with each pass.  Her expression became more and more dour the longer he waited, until she finally pocketed her wand and looked squarely back at him.  “Well, you were right about the ribs. Three of them on the right side have been practically pulverized.”

Draco tensed.  “How long will it take to mend them?”

She seemed to sense his trepidation, because her stern expression slowly melted away into something closer to pity.  He supposed she knew better than most how badly he dealt with pain, but her pity was far from comforting.  “I’m afraid, given the extent and location of the damage, I will have to vanish the bone fragments and you will have to imbibe a dosage of Skele-gro to grow them back properly.  It will be quite painful, and I cannot give you Dreamless Sleep in tandem, so I must insist that you stay over into the morrow to ensure that you fully recuperate.”

Draco could feel the color drain from his face, and he nodded stiffly, suddenly wishing he had never agreed to Potter’s offer of a morning fly.  The snitch fluttered uselessly in his clenched palm and he found that he didn’t much care that he had beaten Potter anymore.  The small moment of triumph he’d enjoyed was not nearly gratifying enough to balance out the aftermath.  He stared down at the snitch accusingly and Madam Pomfrey seemed to notice it for the first time.

“Give that to me and I’ll keep it somewhere safe for you,” she stated with a sigh.

He loosened his grip so she could pluck it out, but the moment she saw the palm of his hand, she gasped in alarm.  He instinctively turned it away, but she grabbed his wrist and forced the fingers open so that she could examine the burn scar that webbed across it. 

“That’s old,” Draco bit out self-consciously, and he pulled the hand away again, clutching it to his chest.

She sent him a considering look, but eventually nodded, before bustling away.  He wondered if she knew where he had gotten it, given that everyone in the wizarding world had heard or read the tale of the last battle by now.

Madam Pomfrey came back with some pajamas and a bottle of Skele-gro.  She turned her back as he changed, filling a goblet with the potion.  When he sat up in the bed and sipped from the goblet, it tasted so bad that he almost spat it right back out, but she tipped it further and he was forced to swallow the putrid liquid in great gulps to avoid choking on it.  She muttered some quick _Episkeys_ upon his swollen temple and his damaged shoulder, before she gently pushed him back against the bed and raised the covers over him. 

“Good day, Mr. Malfoy,” she murmured when she was through, placing an uncharacteristically gentle hand over his unhurt shoulder.  “I will be in my office.  Summon me if something goes awry.”

And with those dire words, she left. 

Draco was glad he could neither see nor hear the Quidditch pitch, what with the Hospital Wing being on the other side of the castle.  He turned over onto his side and stared unseeingly at a glint of sunlight on the half-empty bottle of Skele-gro.  He wasn’t even tired.  No matter how early he had gotten up, it was still only midday, but he closed his eyes and hoped to nod off before the potion took effect.  Maybe that way he’d miss most of the pain.

He determinedly counted Puffskeins in his head.  Every time they tumbled over a grassy knoll, he’d count one and wonder if sheer boredom would be enough to put him to sleep.   He was just on Puffskein one-thousand-and-seventy-two, wondering if knocking himself out with a well-placed hex wouldn’t be more efficient, when the next one to roll out was clearly smaller and _pinker_.  It looked more like those miniature Pygmy Puffs the girls of Hogwarts had all gone round the bend about when the Weasel twins had started breeding them in their Diagon Alley shop. 

The Pygmy Puffs were clearly more agile than the Puffskeins, because they immediately hopped onto miniature brooms and traced complicated loops.  Draco found himself disturbingly envious of their skills, until Susan Bones rode up on her own broom and snatched one out of the air.

She pulled the pink, suspiciously green-eyed and bespectacled pygmy puff close to her chest and scowled at Draco. “What are you doing?  Pygmy Puffs are for girls!”

Irritated, Draco meant to retort, but something grabbed his ankle and tugged until he fell flat on his face, the air knocked out of him. He cursed and kicked at whatever had a hold of him, but his foot never connected and he was dragged across the mud. Two Pygmy Puffs that looked suspiciously like Finnigan and Smith laughed as he slid by. He shouted in alarm and struggled, but it was no use, and the next thing he knew, he was sinking right into the wet, muddy ground.  He fell until he collapsed over a hard stone floor, his midsection exploding with pain. He hissed, tears blurring his vision, and cradled his stomach. But then he heard something breathing in the dark and he stiffened, opening his eyes and looking about anxiously.

He tensed. He was in the dungeons of the manor. He would recognize them anywhere. All too familiar faces emerged from the dark, their mouths twisting and groaning in agony.  He pushed himself up and struggled to get away, but they surrounded him, and he yelped in panic when their cold, bloodstained hands grabbed him about the ankles, forcing him back to the ground. 

One of them opened their mouth but a chorus of voices filled the dank air, “Face your crimes, Death Eater!”

“Let me go!” Draco pleaded, the familiar fear lapping at his insides. 

He tried to scramble away, but the hold they kept on his limbs with their skeletal fingers was too strong. 

“You must pay!”

One of the gruesome specters pointed a knobbly wand at him, and Draco’s breath came in harsh gasps, burning in his lungs. He turned this way and that, searching for anything or anyone who might save him.  Then he spotted a man standing in the background, his dark hair distinctly unkempt. 

“Potter!” he cried.  “Please, tell them I didn't - !”

But the wizard only stared back at him indifferently, his green eyes dull and lifeless, until he turned away.

“Potter!” Draco shouted, but Potter did not look back, and he faded into the mass of writhing bodies.

“You must pay!” His tormentors repeated, and Draco watched in horror as the wand before him raised. 

“Crucio!”

Pain unlike anything Draco had ever felt before stabbed through his midsection and he screamed until he could feel his throat burning.  “No… _No_ …It wasn’t me!  No…I didn’t mean to—!”

“Malfoy –”

“No…please…!”

“ _Draco!_ ”

Something squeezed Draco’s arm and his eyes snapped open to take in a dark room, only lit by moonlight.  He didn’t have much chance to survey his surroundings, though, because something was mercilessly stabbing his midsection and he was forced to double up in pain.  “ _Fuck_.”

“Should I get Pomfrey?”

Draco forced his eyes back open through the haze of agony, and to his shock he saw Potter sitting there next to his bed, watching him apprehensively.  “ _Potter?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?” Draco gasped out as his gut twisted severely.  He tried not to let his eyes water, but it was out of his control. The pain was intense, and he remembered why now.  He’d crushed his ribs in a Seeker’s Game against Potter and now he was stuck growing them back in the hospital wing.  _Brilliant_.

“I said I’d come visit you,” Potter replied matter-of-factly.

Draco stared at him, hardly believing that Potter had come. “Ugh.  I wish you hadn’t.”

“Thanks,” Potter muttered.

“No.” Draco shook his head, and promptly decided not to do that again as it left him dizzy with a churning stomach.  “I would just rather you hadn't seen me like this.”

It seems pain was a natural Veritaserum for him, because he hadn’t exactly meant to say that.  It was too late though, bugger it all.

Potter’s gaze seemed to soften.  “It’s all right, Malfoy.  I’m sure I’ve looked worse, trust me.”

“Thanks, Potter.”  Draco meant to sound derisive, but it came out sincere and breathless instead.  “ _Fuck_ , I hate this.”

Potter glanced over at the used bottle of Skele-gro and grimaced.  “You’re regrowing your ribs then?”

“Three of them.  I blame you, of course,” Draco groaned.  “What time is it?”

Potter frowned, but he tapped his wrist with the tip of his wand and read the numbers that glowed on his skin.  “It’s half-midnight, and what do you mean you blame me?”

“Don’t give me that,” Draco bit out breathlessly as another stabbing pain jolted through him.  “If you hadn’t suggested that Seeker’s Game, I would have never been hurt.”

“I think you mean, if you hadn’t been such a competitive git, you wouldn’t have hurtled face-first into the ground,” Potter pointed out with a wry smile. 

“That too,” Draco gasped out.  “ _Merlin_ , I think I know how witches in labor feel.  If I pop out any offspring, will you take care of them in my stead?”

“You’re not pregnant, Malfoy,” Potter snorted. 

“How would you know?” Draco bit out, something he was relatively certain was a contraction rolling through his midsection.

“Because you are a man,” Potter informed him patiently, as if he was speaking to a two-year-old.  “And last time I checked, men can’t get pregnant.”

"I’m a Wizard...I can do anything,” Draco retorted nonsensically, clenching his teeth.  “Ugh…”

“What are you talking about?” Potter actually appeared astonished.

Draco stared at him. He would have laughed if he wasn’t currently living through the seven levels of hell.  He’d only been joking, of course, but apparently Potter was taking him seriously, which showed just how gullible and ignorant Potter truly was when it came to magic.  Despite his vulnerable state, Draco decided to milk it. 

“It’s magic, Potter,” Draco drawled between gasps of pain.  “Anything’s possible.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Draco replied, actually grateful for the pain as it kept him from giving the game away by smirking.  “My very own Uncle was actually my Aunt on my father’s side.”

He watched Potter’s face go blank with confusion as he tried to puzzle that one out, and Draco struggled not to snort with glee.  Oh, this was too much fun. It definitely took the edge off from his insides being mashed into mince meat.   Actually, no it didn't. He wondered for a moment if the pain might become so overwhelming he’d pass out.  He almost wished it would. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Potter finally mumbled, after too long an interval in Draco's opinion.

“It makes perfect sense, Potter,” Draco reasoned tremblingly.  “One day, you too, can be an Aunt.”

Potter’s face twisted into such an intense expression of revulsion and horror that Draco couldn’t help huffing out a laugh.

Potter got one look at him and scowled.  “You’re having me on!”

“What was your first clue?” Draco chuckled breathlessly, which he wished he hadn’t done, because the throbbing sting in his torso became twice as bad.  “Honestly, Potter.  Pregnant wizards?  How gullible can you get?”

“How was I supposed to know?” Potter muttered mulishly.  “Every day at Hogwarts, learning a new spell or potion was like witnessing the impossible.  I’ve transfigured toads into teapots, for Merlin’s sake!  To me, sometimes anything really _is_ possible with magic.”

Draco stared at him in wonder for a moment, before gasping out, “you really _were_ raised by muggles.”   He hadn’t meant that in a derogatory way.  He was actually quite awed by the fact.  Here Potter was, the defeater of the most powerful wizard in the world, and he’d grown up completely ignorant of magic.

Potter seemed to take it as an insult, however, because his scowl deepened.  “I’m still as much a wizard as you are, Malfoy.”

“No,” Draco denied, huffing an incredulous laugh.  “You’re not.”

“What?” Potter looked angry for the first time since the battle at Hogwarts.  His eyes flashing dangerously.

“You’re a _better_ wizard than me,” Draco clarified, immediately wishing he could stop talking.  Then he doubled up again, holding his stomach as the pain came back with a vengeance.

Potter, however, seemed to be struck by Draco’s words, because all of his anger appeared to drain out of his shoulders until he was reduced to staring dumbly at him.  “Draco…”

“Don’t say anything uncomfortable, Potter,” Draco gasped, and wiped away some of the sweat he could feel collecting on his brow.  “I've said enough for the both of us.”

“But it isn’t true,” Potter denied, his brows knitting.

Draco only had the strength to send him an incredulous look.

“No, it really isn’t,” Potter pressed.  “I’m not any better than anyone else.”

“I suppose defeating the most powerful evil wizard of our time counts for nothing, then,” Draco muttered wryly. 

“That was luck,” Potter insisted, and he frowned at Draco.  “Don’t shake your head like that, Malfoy.  It _was_ luck.  Most of it even.  And the other part was just, really good friends who helped me out.  Saved my neck quite a few times, actually.  And…” Potter trailed off, his eyes dulling considerably.  “Another part was the people who sacrificed themselves in my place.”

Potter seemed to lose himself to that far off place again and it was, quite frankly, disturbing.  “Potter, you seem to forget that you sacrificed yourself, as well. You managed to do what the Dark Lord had never managed. No other wizard had ever returned from death alive and whole, but you made the choice to face death when most other wizards would have run. That may be the very definition of Gryffindor stupidity, but it is certainly not only luck.”

Potter seemed to come back to himself and eyed Draco.  Draco tried not to grimace around the continued wave of pain he was experiencing, and looked away. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to do that,” Draco whispered between hitches in his breath, the haze of agony making him appallingly verbose.  “Slytherin that I am, I would have run and tried to save myself, and that’s why you’re a better wizard than I am, Potter.”

Potter stared at him and Draco swiped at the sweat coating his brow, finding that it was probably a good thing he cared so little what Potter thought of him at that moment. 

“Right, who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?” Potter finally uttered.  He looked disoriented, as if he’d been hit upside the head by a bludger.  “Are you a Polyjuiced impersonator?”

“ _Ha ha_ ,” Draco gasped.  “Very funny, Potter. Unfortunately, it’s still me in here, enduring what is akin to an endless crucio to the ribs.”

“Right,” Potter muttered, and his mouth turned down into a worried frown again.  “Sorry.”

Draco glanced at him questioningly and was met with the sight of Potter in his self-pity pose.  Draco rolled his eyes.  Despite what Potter had said earlier, it appeared he really was blaming himself, at least in part. 

“Apology accepted,” Draco drawled irritably.  “See that you don’t do it again.  As you know, I have absolutely no control over my actions and am completely incapable of making any important life-altering decisions on my own.”

Potter was scowling at him now.  “What do you want from me, Malfoy?”

“Nothing,” Draco wheezed just as another part of his torso throbbed with pain, and he narrowed his eyes at Potter.  “That’s the point.”

Potter stared at him for a long moment, and then, for some reason Draco could not fathom, he smiled.  “Thanks.”

“For what?” Draco questioned, bewildered. 

“For…” Potter trailed off and he glanced away for a moment, before locking eyes with him again.  “For being you.”

“Right…” Draco stated uncomfortably, before another, deeper surge of pain hit.  He groaned and bit his bottom lip hard.  “Brace yourself, Potter.  I think it's twins.”

Potter shook his head, his mouth tugged upward into an exasperated smile.  “Should I get Madam Pomfrey now?”

Draco shook his head.  “No, it’s after hours.  Don’t want you getting in trouble for visiting the invalid.”

“I wouldn’t,” Potter replied.  “We’re of age, remember?  Curfew doesn’t apply to us anymore.”

“Ah, good point,” Draco muttered.  He’d forgotten that.  He was so used to being restricted by universal rules at Hogwarts.  The castle made him feel younger than he was.  “No need to get Pomfrey, though.  She probably wouldn’t be of much help.  Apparently mixing Skele-gro with pain potions is toxic or some such rot.  It’s really quite convenient, actually.  She’s probably been waiting for the opportunity for years.”

Potter grimaced, although his gaze still held a hint of amusement.

“I know you probably aren’t in the mood, but the Hogwarts Elves insisted I bring you this,” Potter stated, and he bent over beside his chair to retrieve a plate covered with food.

Draco looked over at the slab of meat drowning in a sea of gravy and his stomach churned violently in protest.  He was forced to look away from the plate or lose whatever contents his stomach had left. 

Peripherally, he could see Potter hastily placing it back on the floor. “Sorry.”

“You certainly are a font of regret tonight, Potter,” Draco observed once his stomach settled down enough for him to safely open his mouth.  “Anything else you’d like to apologize for?”

Potter sent him an exasperated look.  “I’m beginning to feel sorry I came to visit you.”

“You wound me, Potter,” Draco drawled with fabricated hurt.  “And here I am, bedridden because of you.”

Potter snorted.  “Nice try, Malfoy, but my guilt-threshold has been reached.”

“Oh, that’s a big word, Potter,” Draco sneered around a hitched breath as the pain branched out through his abdomen.  “Did Granger teach you that?”

“Of course,” Potter quipped with a careless smile that threw Draco off.

“Right.”  Draco eyed him and wiped his sweaty brow again as droplets slid into his eyes.  He remembered the food Potter had stashed away next to his chair.  “You went to the kitchens for dinner?”

“Yeah.”  Potter shrugged.

“Why didn’t you sit with the others in the Great Hall?” Draco questioned, unable to keep a note of disdain from coloring his voice.  “They would have welcomed you, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t feel like it,” Potter muttered evasively, his gaze sliding away toward the window.

Draco sent him a look.

Potter noticed it after a moment and caught his eye.  He sighed heavily before pushing a hand through his unruly dark hair.  A habit he seemed to have, which only served to make the mess on his head worse.  “It’s a bit tiring being around them.”

Pain pulsed through Draco's core again, but he found it remarkably easy to ignore. 

“You don’t say,” Draco sneered around a wince, but inside, he was pleased.  “I’m surprised not even Quidditch could remedy that.”

Potter shrugged again, his eyes duller.  “It was alright, I suppose.  I had to study so I went to the library shortly after you left.”

Draco, who knew exactly how little Potter actually studied in the library, was surprised to say the least.  It sounded as if Potter would rather be alone than spend time with the rest of the Eighth Years.  It was an odd thought, but it sent a peculiar pool of warmth to his gut that soothed the stabbing pain.  Potter had come to visit him and had yet to show signs that he’d rather be somewhere else.  This baffled him to no end, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

Coincidentally, the ache in Draco’s torso dulled, which may or may not have been due to the potion beginning to wear off.  He settled back against his pillows, no longer feeling the urge to cradle his stomach, and finger-combed his hair.  He let out a long breath of relief.

“Feeling better?” Potter asked, breaking the silence.

Draco nodded.  “I think I’m going to live, after all.”

“It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your sense for melodrama,” Potter commented dryly.

“It isn’t melodramatic if it’s true,” Draco pointed out.

Potter just quirked his lips and shook his head.  “How long did Pomfrey say you’d have to stay here?”

Draco grimaced.  “Until tomorrow evening, I think.”

“Too bad,” Potter stated sympathetically.  “At least you won’t miss the Start of Term Feast.”

Draco eyed him dubiously.  “I’d rather I did, quite frankly.”

Potter sent him a long look before sitting back in his chair.  He glanced out the window, his expression unreadable, before he muttered, “I know what you mean.”

Draco frowned at him.  “And you accuse _me_ of melodrama."

Potter’s attention snapped back to him, a frown tugging at his lips.  “I'm not being melodramatic.”

Draco eyed him skeptically, wondering how honest he should be. 

Potter sat forward in his chair, frowning.  “I'm not."

Draco decided there was nothing for it, and disagreed as bluntly as he could.  “You can’t run from your adoring fans forever, Potter.”

Predictably, Potter tensed and his face paled a shade. “What are you on about?”

Draco just shook his head.  “You know very well what I’m on about.  You do a good job of trying to hide it, but it’s plain to anyone with half a brain that you’ve got issues.”

“Oh, and you don’t?” Potter scowled accusingly.  His green eyes flashed again, but Draco found it oddly reassuring.

“Of course I do,” Draco scoffed.  “We’ve all got issues, but at least mine are justified.”

“Right,” Potter barked out a laugh, but it was mirthless.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know I’m right?” Draco questioned snidely. 

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Potter growled, and he looked truly angry now.  He rose half way out of his chair.  “You have no idea what I have to deal with.”

“No, maybe not, but at least I’m not running away,” Draco retorted coldly.

Potter’s eyes widened a fraction before he glared down at him. 

“You think _this_ is running away?” he gestured to their surroundings angrily.  “I came back to Hogwarts, didn’t I?”

Draco stared up at him, realizing that Potter wasn’t holding anything back anymore.  He was more like the Potter he remembered, the one who was present and alive.  Instead of infuriating him, Potter’s reaction calmed him. 

“Is that why you’re here?” Draco asked quietly.

His sober tone seemed to take Potter aback, because after a moment, he appeared to deflate, his shoulders drooping.  He lowered back into his chair and pushed a hand through his messy locks.

“No…Yes…” Potter took in a breath and shook his head, burying his face in his hands.  “I dunno.”

Draco quirked his lips in amusement.  “Thank you, Potter, for clearing that up.”

Potter chuckled and eyed Draco from over his folded hands.  “You’re a right arsehat, you know that?”

“I am aware of that, yes,” Draco admitted, but then he smirked.  “Although, I’m beginning to suspect you like it.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Potter stated, but his lips were quirked into an amused half-smile. 

Draco slid down into a more comfortable position and sighed.  He felt incredibly tired now that the earlier tension had dissipated and the Skele-gro had done its work.

“I think I’ll go now,” Potter muttered after a moment, and Draco watched him stand up.  “I’ll see you when you’re released.”

“All right, Potter,” Draco drawled lazily.  “I wouldn’t want you to miss your beauty sleep. You certainly need it.”

Potter snorted.  “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

Draco sleepily watched Potter depart, his eyelids at half mast. Then he muttered, “Goodnight, Potter.”


	4. You Know What Remains

When Draco slipped back into consciousness, his surroundings were disconcertingly bright, forcing him to cover his eyes with a groan. Blessedly, Madam Pomfrey moved to his bedside and cast him in shadow, so he chanced a squint up at her.

"Awake at last," she observed, levitating a familiar tray of food. "And I see you've had a visitor in the night."

Draco eyed the tray warily, realizing that Potter had forgotten to take the food back with him once he'd shoved it down beside his chair.

"I wasn't hungry," Draco replied evasively.

But Pomfrey, rather than frowning in disapproval or pursuing the topic, simply looked amused. "No, I would think not."

Draco sat up carefully and realized he no longer ached anywhere, which was a good sign. In fact, as the bleariness of sleep wore off, he was filled with a restless energy. He glanced out the windows and saw that the sun was peeking out through a patch of clouds in the east, its dying rays alighting the dust motes in the room.

He glanced back at Madam Pomfrey. "Am I free to go now?"

Pomfrey eyed him critically and vanished the tray of stale food with a flick before fussing over him with her wand. "That all depends, Mr. Malfoy. Do you feel any residual aches or pains?"

Draco shook his head, but she grasped his wrist and rotated it so that it moved his previously injured shoulder.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

It didn't and he told her so.

"How about this?" she questioned, pressing a hand against his healed ribs.

"No," he replied warily as she continued to poke and prod him. "Shockingly, your potion seems to have worked."

"None of that cheek, boy," she admonished, but her lips were curved into a small smile as she waved her wand about, smoke puffing out from its tip. "You may be cured, but you've been considerably drained. I had expected you to stir hours before this."

Draco couldn't help feeling dismayed. "What time is it?"

"It is nearly six o'clock in the evening," Pomfrey replied curtly as she bustled around and shot bright yellow wand light into his eyes. Draco jerked his head away and blinked rapidly, momentarily blinded. If Pomfrey noticed or cared for his predicament, she didn't let on. "The rest of the students will be arriving within the hour."

" _Brilliant_ ," Draco muttered, his enthusiasm for leaving the bed diminished considerably as he wiped ineffectually at his stinging eyes.

Madam Pomfrey pulled back, pocketed her wand, and sighed.

"Well, it seems you've healed all the parts that matter. No use lying about any further." Draco sent her a harassed look – she'd made it sound as if he had _chosen_ to spend no less than sixteen hours unconscious in bed – but she ignored him. "You're free to go, Mr. Malfoy."

Despite his initial impatience, it was with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that Draco turned to get out of bed. By the time he'd stood up, Madam Pomfrey had levitated a stack of his pressed and folded clothing toward him. He grasped the bundle and pulled it to his chest before she bustled her way out of the space. Just as she was about to close the curtains behind her, however, she paused and turned around.

"Oh, and another thing, the Headmistress would like you to convene with your Housemates in the Great Hall before the feast," she informed him. "If you hurry, you just might arrive on time."

Then, with a swish of the curtains, she was gone.

Draco got dressed quickly, and pocketed his wand, which had been sitting innocuously on the bedside table. He ran a hand through his hair and realized he was in dire need of a bath. He'd sweat a lot the previous night and now he could feel a layer of it caked and dried on his skin and scalp. He felt disgusting.

Remembering the night before was not exactly pleasant either. Potter had witnessed him at his weakest, and the things Draco had said to him. He would have never admitted anything of the sort had he been in his right mind. It made him feel vulnerable, and he did not like feeling vulnerable; especially when Potter was involved. He knew it would have been better if Potter hadn't come to visit, but a small and needier part of him recoiled at the idea. He remembered Potter sitting at his bedside, his green eyes alight with rare concern. He quickly shook his head to dislodge the memory. It was clear he had been spending entirely too much time thinking about Potter, and the wizard's absurdly green eyes were retroactively driving him to madness.

 _Not that this is anything new_ , an unhelpful voice in the back of his head pointed out, to which Draco retorted with a heated, "Shut it."

He realized only moments later that talking to himself probably wasn't the best endorsement of his sanity either.

He sighed and looked out the window where the sky glowed red-orange beneath the clouds of a coming storm. He knew he wouldn't have time for his usual ablutions, but he certainly didn't want to arrive in the Great Hall looking and feeling like a prisoner of Azkaban. He didn't need to give Finnigan and his ilk any more to work with.

He flicked his wand, muttering a quick scourgify, and waited. Nothing happened, apart from a slight breeze about his ankles that was more likely a castle draft. Draco cast it again with a stronger voice this time, but nothing changed. His skin still felt caked and itchy with dried sweat and dirt.

"Useless twig!" He spat, and glared at his wand.

He flicked it again, hoping it could be cowed into utility by the force of his ire, but sparks came out of its tip instead, setting his robe-sleeve ablaze.

"Shit!" He hastily bat at it until only a blackened stain remained. Luckily, the school robes he had purchased for this term were made out of highly inflammable materials. A lesson he had learned from experience.

Draco glared at his wand, and had half a mind to snap the wretched thing in half, but he could only bend its pliable wood before he scowled down at it in defeat. The storm clouds passed over the setting sun, making the room darker, and he huffed irritably. He supposed he would just have to make do with his current state.

The moment he left the Hospital Wing, Draco could sense that the rest of the students would be arriving soon. The halls were already brightly lit by torches, and even the portraits lining the walls seemed livelier than they had been the entire week prior. Every once and a while, elves bustled past him, carrying supplies, as others frenetically worked on the remaining repairs. He could practically feel the ancient magic of the castle prickling against his skin in anticipation, but it only caused something like dread to twist in the pit of his stomach.

By the time he stepped into the entrance hall, his wand hand was clenched tightly around the worthless stick in his robe pocket. His eyes found the torchlight bleeding in through the cracks between the ominous doors to the Great Hall, and his heart jumped in his chest. Cursing his own nerves, he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and willed away the lingering discomfort of dirt on his skin, but was interrupted by a maniacal cackling above him. He looked up to spot Peeves holding a bucket above his head. Then the bucket tipped and he didn't have any time to react before a large volume of slime engulfed him, covering his head and sliding sluggishly down into his robes.

"Peeves, you grotty tosspot!" Draco spat, shivering in disgust and brandishing his wand blindly as the muck oozed into his eyes.

Peeves cackled madly. "I've slimed the Malfoy boy, which is less than he deserves!"

Draco couldn't see, but he aimed for what he could hear. "Confringo!"

Peeves let out a yelp, but instead of bursting into flames, Draco's world exploded and he was slammed into a wall. He slid down and groaned, his back stinging from the impact. He took in a harsh, pained breath and wiped at the gook over his eyes, glaring at Peeves. The poltergeist was now cackling louder than ever as he bobbed up and down just above him. For want of something better, Draco swore colorfully and brandished his rubbish wand.

Peeves didn't appear cowed in the slightest. "The Malfoy boy means to give me the rib, but now he's nothing more than a squib!"

Draco growled, preparing to throw another hex, but a cloaked figure entered the hall and brandished their wand.

"Waddiwasi!"

Something small shot across the room and lodged into one of Peeve's nostrils. The poltergeist promptly screeched in dismay then shot into the opposite corridor and out of sight.

Draco hastily swiped at the slime on his face, but his vision was still blurry when the cloaked figure came to stand over him. He could only see the vague outlines of a young, black-haired witch with an unusually pointy chin.

"Alright there?" She smiled at him crookedly with thin, crimson lips. Then she bent down to offer him a gloved hand, her electric blue eyes blazing in the torchlight.

Draco eyed her hand for a moment, then grunted a curt, "I'm fine." He didn't take her hand. He'd rather not compromise even more of his pride that night.

She withdrew and shrugged nonchalantly. "You look a right mess, lad. Here, let me."

Before he could do anything more than blink, she raised her wand and banished the slime. He tried not to look too relieved as the gunk left his skin, but he couldn't help quickly running a hand through his hair to make certain it was substance free. He noticed she was watching him, probably waiting for some sort of acknowledgement from him. Not usually one for gracious gestures, he settled for nodding to her imperiously as he got to his feet. He stepped around her and she eyed him for a moment, her well-meaning expression shifting.

He looked away, but just as he made it to the doors to the Great Hall, her voice rang out behind him. "You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?"

He stopped just as his scarred hand squeezed the iron handle. Then he glanced back over his shoulder at her. As he'd half expected, her expression was grave, her smile forgotten. "Yes, and you are?"

"Auror Gwendolen Proudfoot," she replied, and something about the way she'd said 'Auror' sent a shiver down his spine. "Your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Of course she was an Auror. She'd probably lost loads of comrades in the war, as well. Just his luck. The line of his lips tightened but he kept a neutral expression. He knew she was already suspicious of him and it wouldn't do to give her more reason to despise him. He nodded politely to her, pretending he was oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between them. "Professor Proudfoot."

Before she could respond, he turned and pushed through the Great Hall doors.

He relaxed a bit when the heavy, wooden doors swung shut behind him with a satisfying thump. Compared to remaining in her company, it was actually a relief to be facing a meal with his peers.

He'd thought that the Great Hall had been fully restored before, but tonight it looked particularly extravagant as candles floated over the tables and an autumn storm brewed in the rafters of the enchanted ceiling. Instead of sitting at the Gryffindor table as they had been, all of the Eighth Years were now clustered around a smaller table right at the front and parallel to the high table where the professors sat. As usual, the table was full of laughter and animated discussion, the occupants no doubt basking in blissful ignorance of his presence. He spotted Potter, sitting idly beside Weasley and Granger as they bickered like an old married couple. Unsurprisingly, Potter looked a bit lost in his own thoughts, his stare vacant. Intending to avoid notice as long as possible, Draco made his way toward the far end of the table, but Potter's gaze sharpened unexpectedly and locked onto him.

"Malfoy." Potter waved at him. Weasley startled, then noticed Draco and scowled. Granger merely eyed him speculatively. Potter scooted over and cocked his head to indicate the space beside him.

Bewildered, Draco paused, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Potter raised his eyebrows expectantly. Everyone else at the table, however, turned toward Draco with wide-eyed expressions of disbelief. It might have been comical if Draco wasn't at the center of it. Draco looked about then noticed the glower on Finnigan's face, and that decided it. He tugged his lips into a haughty smirk and changed his trajectory toward Potter as if that had been his intended destination from the start.

The table was quiet when he took his seat with an air of forced nonchalance. Longbottom actually sent him a tentative smile from his seat across the table, beside Brown. Draco nodded to him stiffly, not entirely certain how to proceed. He glanced at Potter who simply grinned at him. Weasley was glaring at him from just beyond Potter's shoulder, and Granger merely caught his eye and nodded as if she was personally permitting his presence amongst them.

Draco bristled. Into the lion's den, indeed.

Potter, of course, appeared perfectly oblivious to the tension around him, and he demonstrated this by leaning into Draco's personal space. Draco jumped a bit when a warm hand pressed against his side, over his healed ribs. "Still alive, then?"

"Melodramatic, aren't we, Potter?" Draco questioned, his voice unsteady. He struggled to ignore the way the warmth of Potter's touch seemed to transfer straight to his cheeks.

"As I recall, I wasn't the one being melodramatic _last night_ ," Potter muttered with a wicked grin and something in Draco's stomach flipped. Surely, the implicit innuendo was unintentional on Potter's part, and not thrilling for Draco in the least. _No, definitely not_ , Draco told himself forcefully just as some girls in his vicinity gasped.

"Would you keep it down about last night, Potter?" Draco hissed.

Apparently that was not the best thing to say. The Gryffindor Patil girl's mouth opened so wide, an Ashwinder could have built a nest in it, and a chain reaction of shocked mutterings broke out all along the table. Draco wanted to bang his forehead into its hard wood surface, but he managed to abstain for the sake of his dignity. It was a near thing, however, because even Weasley, the most oblivious wizard on earth, was shooting Potter a scandalized look. Granger actually had the gall to snort behind her hand. Draco didn't even want to know how Finnigan and Smith were reacting. He didn't bother to search them out. Potter, for his part, just sent him and everyone else a puzzled look.

"Why can't I talk about last night?" Potter questioned entirely too loudly, the ignorant buffoon. "Are you embarrassed?" A pause, and then worse, a sincere smile curved his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You dealt with the pain well."

Draco flushed, and the whole table broke out into gasps. He could barely take it. Was Potter having him on or was he truly that naive? Either way, Draco wanted to stuff his scarf into Potter's mouth and suffocate him. Fortunately for Potter and probably for Draco, he lost the chance, because McGonagall chose that moment to enter the Great Hall from the professors' entrance.

"I see we have all arrived," she stated crisply, and the Eighth Years quieted down immediately. Although, many of them were still shooting speculative and/or horrified looks between Draco and Potter. McGonagall's sharp gaze fell upon Draco as well. "Good of you to attend, Mister Malfoy. I trust you are healed?"

Discomfited but unwilling to show it, Draco nodded, and she mercifully slid her gaze away.

"I've gathered you all here, before the arrival of the lower years, to go over the details specific to your year as term commences," she continued, surveying them all. "As you are all aware, since you are all officially of age, certain rules governing Hogwarts students will not apply to you."

Some of the Eighth Years tittered at this, but she silenced them with a look.

"Unlike the students in lower years, Eighth Years will be allowed certain freedoms, and _responsibilities_." Her gaze turned piercing at that last and she gave them all a meaningful look before she continued. "Therefore, as at least one amongst you is most certainly aware, you will all be exempt from curfew." Her eyes lingered conspicuously upon Potter, and Draco tried not to cringe as eyes all about the table widened to the size of dinner plates, powered by mistaken assumptions, no doubt. Potter, of course, remained completely oblivious to their salacious conjectures and left Draco feeling a strange mix of irritation and envy of his incalculable ignorance.

"You will also be allowed off the grounds whenever you wish," McGonagall stated, either oblivious or aloof to the drama playing out amongst her students. "Although, I would prefer that you spend the majority of your time within the castle walls."

Many of the Eighth Years erupted into excited banter over this, but McGonagall cut them off. " _However_ , you will also be expected to exhibit a certain level of decorum befitting adults within this castle, and if you are found breaking rules that _do_ apply to you, your punishments will be that much more severe."

The table fell into a pained silence at that, and McGonagall appeared pleased by the effect. Draco had a sudden impression that she had, indeed, learned something from Snape.

"Of course, that means no duels, no banned objects, no cheating or tampering with school supplies, and for the love of Circe, no traipsing into the Forbidden Forest if you can help it."

Draco could hear a couple of students giggling, but it died off when McGonagall sent that portion of the table a withering look.

"With regards to classes," she continued. "Most will be what you would have had, had you attended your Seventh Year. Even those of you who had attended, will be asked to repeat what little you had managed to absorb under the Carrows." Her lips tightened a bit at that, and Draco could see how infuriated she still was, even at their memory. "There will, however, be one class that is completely new. You may have already guessed at its subject, given your list of text books."

Most at the table broke out into eager murmurs. Draco had no doubt that they had all been anticipating this announcement just as much as he had been, but he did his best to appear only mildly interested.

"This class will, of course, be in Animagus transfiguration," McGonagall informed them, and smiled indulgently as some of the students clapped and hooted, before she added, "And I will teach it."

More students clapped at that, including Potter, which she accepted gracefully with a nod.

"There will be a sign-up parchment posted in your common room tomorrow," she informed them. "However, this course will not be suited for everyone, and as such, it will be elective. Even if you are enrolled, it will not guarantee that you will become a successful Animagus. It is an advanced form of transfiguration that many witches and wizards simply cannot complete. Usually, only the most skilled and powerful witches and wizards succeed. Therefore, this course will have no bearing on your marks or your NEWTs."

"Any questions?" she asked, surveying them all.

Thomas raised his hand and she nodded. "Professor, will our House be competing for the House Cup this year?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Thomas," she replied curtly as some of the boys at the table groaned. She merely pursed her lips. "Given the population disparity between your House and the others, any competition would be unfair and quite frankly, stacked against you."

"But what about Quidditch?" Boot asked, looking hopeful.

"I'm afraid that is also out of the question," she replied, but this time she appeared truly regretful as most of the students voiced their displeasure. "There simply aren't enough of you to compete in a team, and since you will not be competing for the Cup, competing in the school games would be a futile endeavor."

Finnigan raised his hand. "Please, m'am. What if we just created a club?"

McGonagall frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose that would be acceptable, if you play amongst each other."

"Thank you, Professor!"

Several of the boys and some of the girls clapped excitedly at that, but she raised her voice above them. " _However_ , we can't have the younger students playing without supervision. Only of age Seventh Years will be eligible to join your club as well."

Many students nodded, including Finnigan, Thomas, and Smith, who were conferring eagerly with their heads together. Draco felt a small pang of bitterness at the sight. He would never be welcomed into such a club, and the thought rankled.

"Right, now that that has been taken care of." McGonagall took a moment to survey them all, her expression unreadable. "I would like to speak of other, less conventional, matters."

Her expression sobered, and Draco tried not to squirm as her gaze lingered upon him once again.

"It is my hope," she began, before eyeing them all. "Given the time you have had to become accustomed to your new House, that you all have grown to see each other as Housemates in every sense of the word."

 _Not likely,_ Draco thought cynically. He could practically feel Finnigan's glare burning into the back of his head.

"This is a bit of an experiment here at Hogwarts," McGonagall continued. "It is the first time in this institution's history that students have been invited to come back for an extra year, and the first time students of different Houses have been united into one. What is more remarkable is the history between these students and the battles they have fought. Indeed, in some cases, against each other."

She did not look at Draco or Potter now, but Draco could feel eyes on him from all around the table. Even Potter looked a bit uncomfortable, shifting in his seat.

"My hope," McGonagall stated into the silence. "Is that you all will grow to love each other."

Some of those at the table chuckled uncomfortably at that, and McGonagall had the grace to smile self-deprecatingly. "I realize it may seem improper for me to speak about love. Believe me, I would just as soon leave the topic alone but for the fact that Professor Dumbledore believed in its power so strongly."

Draco stiffened at the turn this speech had taken, and the table went so silent that you could hear a pin drop on the other side of the hall.

"I admit I was skeptical at first, just as Tom Riddle had been, mind you, but if the war has taught us anything, it is the undeniable power of love. It is the only force that can truly penetrate the darkness, it is the only thing that can fix what is broken after war, and it is the one element that can bridge differences so engrained that reason has been abandoned. Albus had said love was the most powerful magic; that it would, in the end, be the one thing that stood between us and the darkness." McGonagall smiled a bit sadly. "Of course, as with regards to many things, he was quite right."

McGonagall's lips quivered a bit, and Draco tensed further. In his mind, Dumbledore fell from the tower over and over again, and he had to scrub the image from his eyes with the palm of his hand, before it would leave him. He was the one who had opposed this ideology, the only one at this table, and he suspected he would never escape the remonstration or the guilt. He glanced over to see that Potter's gaze was fixed upon nothing, as if he was trapped within his memories. Everyone else was watching McGonagall steadily, but many of them appeared apprehensive.

"Each and every one of you has experienced death," McGonagall continued into the strained silence. "Each and every one of you has felt fear, loss, hatred, and despair. There is nothing worse than war; nothing more damaging than the scars it can leave behind. Some may feel that the only justice is vengeance, but they would be mistaken." Draco was surprised to see her eyes sharpen in Finnigan's direction. "Revenge will not bring back the ones you've lost nor will it heal your wounds. It will only propagate the hatred and intolerance that begot the wars of the past."

Draco spared a glance at Finnigan to see him biting his lip, appearing shaken, as Thomas put a hand on his shoulder.

"No matter which side you were on, you experienced the worst of war, and these experiences will always be with you," McGonagall stated, her voice softer now. "But now is a time for healing. Now, we move on."

McGonagall looked down at the table, appearing to collect herself until her expression was its usual curt mask. "This will be where you sit at meals, together and apart from the other Houses. You will be an example to the others of unity, respect, and yes, love. You all will show that no matter your past House loyalties or the distinct categories that have divided you, you can come together for something greater. When your time at Hogwarts is over, you will enter a society that will still need rebuilding, and you will become the next stewards of the Wizarding World. It will be up to you to build a better, more tolerant society together. Your last year at Hogwarts is designed to help prepare you for that. At the very least, that is the hope."

The Eighth Years regarded her silently, but Draco could hear some of the girls, like the Patil twins and Brown, sniffling loudly. He had not expected this sort of speech, and he was surprised by how hollow it left him. Potter wasn't even looking in McGonagall's direction anymore. He was bent over the table, staring at the wood blankly. Weasley and Granger were sending him concerned looks, although they too looked shaken. Draco could only clench the scarred hand in his lap, digging the crescents of his nails into the numb flesh.

Suddenly, a door behind the head table opened with a loud creak, breaking the spell, and Professors Flitwick, Sinistra, Trelawney, Slughorn, and Sprout entered the hall. Proudfoot and a wizard Draco could not name were the last to enter. Draco watched Proudfoot warily, but she never once looked in his direction as she sat down at the head table beside Slughorn and conversed with him. McGonagall nodded to them all, just as lightning flashed in the enchanted ceiling, followed by the muffled rumble of thunder.

Then the huge oak doors to the hall creaked open, heralding the arrival of the lower years. With a shameful amount of dread, Draco strained his neck to see the first students exiting the Thestral-drawn carriages and entering the entrance hall, their robes and parcels sopping wet from the rain outside. A large number of them were sending the carriages uneasy looks as they disembarked.

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when warm breath brushed against his ear. "How many do you reckon can see them?"

Draco glanced over at Potter, who was once again leant into his personal space and watching the first of the students trickle into the Great Hall. Unnerved, Draco was glad he managed to sound unaffected when he muttered, "What are you on about, Potter?"

"The thestrals," Potter replied simply and his brows knit as he watched.

"Well, that certainly isn't morbid," Draco commented sardonically, although privately he thought that there was a fair chance most if not all of the students entering the school had the ability to see those foreboding beasts now.

Potter sent him a sidelong glance, and he looked as though he might say something, but McGonagall preempted him.

"It seems the lower years are arriving. Remain seated until the Start-of-Term Feast begins. I will be off preparing the first years for their sorting."

The moment she was out of earshot, the Eighth Years broke out into conversation, and Draco could hear Weasley mutter, "Blimey, that was a right cheerful start of term speech, wasn't it? Nothing like death and war to kill the appetite."

Draco scoffed. "Please Weasley, given the hovel you hail from and the gruel you usually call food, I suspect there is nothing that can kill your appetite."

Brown gasped and Longbottom actually scowled at him.

Predictably, Weasley blew up. "You take that back, you son of a – !"

"Malfoy!" Potter interrupted.

Draco made to glare at him unrepentantly, but then he felt something sticky sliding off of his neck. He yelped and shuddered, placing a hand on the spot and finding it suspiciously wet. He glanced at Potter and stiffened.

Potter was dangling a large slug between his forefinger and thumb, looking at Draco questioningly. "One of yours?"

 _Peeves_ , Draco scowled inwardly. He would not further debase himself by informing Potter that he had lost a duel with the obnoxious poltergeist. Outwardly, he remained calm. "Thanks, Potter. I've been looking for that. Potions ingredient, you know."

Potter's expression was incredulous, but Draco forced himself to pluck the slug from his fingers, doing his best to ignore the disgustingly slick feel of it. "I'll just take that back."

Draco would have tried to vanish the offending gastropod beneath the table, but he suspected it would be disastrous to use his sorry excuse for a wand, so he casually placed the slug into one of his pockets instead. All the while, he mentally cursed Peeves.

"He's a complete nutter," Weasley, his face still red but appearing more awed than angry now, stage-whispered to Granger.

"When have you had time to brew potions?" Potter questioned suspiciously, and Draco cursed the fact that Potter was many things, but he had never been an idiot. "You've been in the Hospital Wing for the past day."

"What do you care when I brew potions, Potter?" Draco snapped evasively. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with being prepared."

Potter reached up and pulled something suspiciously sticky from the top of Draco's head. Draco tried not to wince as Potter dangled yet another fat slug in front of his face. His tone was dry when he observed, "I think you have a hole in your pocket."

"I'll be sure to rectify that," Draco replied steadily, unwilling to back down.

"Good," Potter stated, but his eyes were gleaming with challenge when he plucked something from Draco's shoulder, and dangled the new slug in front of Draco's face. "Because they seem to be multiplying."

Weasley did nothing to control his amusement and burst out laughing. Potter smirked and watched him expectantly. Draco stiffened with the horrifying thought that there were probably slugs sliming their way all over his body and could only thank Salazar that Finnigan hadn't seemed to notice the ruckus from his seat down the table. Draco began to feel ill when he realized he wouldn't be able to use his useless wand to get rid of the infestation. It took almost all of his control not to jump up from the table and tear off his clothes in a fit. He only just bit back a whimper of disgust.

"It's interesting," Potter stated faux casually as he pulled yet another slug from Merlin knew where on Draco's body. "The Weasley twins had developed a hex that multiplied slugs. Some say they'd taught it to the Hogwarts poltergeist to use against Umbridge before they'd left."

"That is interesting," Draco commented lightly, although he could feel himself breaking out into a sweat all over.

"You didn't happen to run into Peeves, did you, Malfoy?" Potter questioned pointedly and peeled yet another slug with a sickening squelching sound from somewhere near the nape of his neck.

Draco shuddered involuntarily, feeling his pride crumble in defeat when something slimy slid over his thigh. He scowled at the meddling savior of the wizarding world who was now grinning at him smugly. "Yes."

"Want me to…?"

"Don't, mate!" Weasley pleaded. "I'm enjoying this too much!"

"If you must," Draco replied with a bit too much desperation coloring his voice, and ignored the Weasel's loud groan of disappointment as Potter moved to cast.

Potter muttered a quick "Finite Incantatem" with a flick of his wand, before banishing the slugs with another swipe. Draco shivered in a belated reaction to the phantom feeling of the slimy creatures. Luckily, Weasley failed to witness it as Granger conveniently commandeered his attention. Draco didn't really care to know how, but he could guess at it with the way the Weasel's eyes glazed over. Draco shuddered again.

"Better?" Potter asked, and his eyes were suddenly so focused on him with that damnable expression of concern that it was hard to look away.

Heat prickled Draco's cheeks unexpectedly, but he wrenched his eyes away before the inappropriate reaction grew worse. He hastily grasped at an air of haughty nonchalance. "Now you owe me some potion ingredients, Potter."

Potter's eyes widened, before he shook his head. "Ron's right. You are mental."

"No more than you, Potter," Draco huffed childishly. He surveyed the hall, which was filling with chattering students at an alarming rate, and then sneered. "Your fan club has arrived, by the way."

Potter predictably stiffened as he took in the new occupants of the Great Hall, vast numbers of who were currently pointing and staring at him with poorly concealed expressions of awe. It made Draco a bit ill, actually, but he strived to appear utterly indifferent.

" _Brilliant_ ," Potter muttered sulkily, and Draco sent him a sidelong glance.

"What kind of Defeater of Dark Lords are you, Potter?" he drawled, idly counting the number of students who entered the Great Hall, paused, and then searched the Eighth Year table until their eyes inevitably landed upon Potter. Almost every newcomer had this reaction, except for those who hadn't yet clued into the no-doubt rampant rumor mill circulating on the other side of the heavy doors. Those ignorant few, however, were usually enlightened the moment they found their seats, after which they joined their mates in ogling the Savior with the subtlety of rampaging hippogriffs. Plebeians. Potter's reaction to this, of course, was to practically shrink into his seat. Draco eyed him critically. "One would think you were scared."

"I'm not afraid of them," Potter denied automatically. "It's just...do they have to huddle and point like that?"

"Well, you'd best get used to it," Draco advised just as he caught a second year girl fainting into her friend's arms. _Honestly_. "You're famous for a reason now."

Potter frowned, and sent him a harassed look. "I didn't do it for the fame."

Draco let out a long-suffering sigh. "No, of course you didn't, but is all this adulation really so appalling, Potter? They only want to bask in the glory of their redeemer."

"You make it sound like I'm some sort of god," Potter muttered.

"You might as well be," Draco admitted. "You're practically immortal."

Potter let out an exasperated sigh, but Draco could see his lips twitching involuntarily.

"All hail Lord Potter," Draco sing-songed. "Protector of the innocent, rescuer of damsels, and patron saint of cowlicks. His vision as myopic as an albino ferret's, his hair as disheveled as a bird's nest, his glasses as hideous as – "

"Alright, alright," Potter interrupted. "No need to list all of my best traits."

"But I was just getting to the good part," Draco informed him. "You're missing my hard-hitting commentary on your fashion-sense." He paused to make a show of looking Potter up and down. "Or lack thereof."

"I think I can do without it, thanks," Potter replied dryly, but his frown was gone, his eyes bright with exasperated amusement.

"Suit yourself," Draco shrugged.

"There's Ginny and Luna!" Weasley exclaimed as soon as he was freed from Granger's spell long enough to notice his surroundings.

Draco stiffened as the two girls approached, and Longbottom turned around to greet them. The Weaslette was smiling warmly as her gaze fell upon Potter and Looney was looking as disconnected from reality as ever. Potter nodded toward them with a small smile. Something in Draco's chest clenched.

"Hi Luna, Ginny," Longbottom greeted as they both stopped beside him, and the Weaslette finally pulled her doe-eyed gaze away from Potter.

"Hi Neville," Ginny greeted. "How was your Summer?"

"It was alright," Longbottom replied. "Fairly uneventful."

"Father says your Grandmother has subscribed to the Quibbler," Looney stated airily.

"Yeah," Longbottom replied, scratching the back of his head nervously, and he shared a look with the Weaslette. "She likes the articles."

Draco abstained from rolling his eyes, but just barely.

"How was the train?" Weasley asked, putting an arm around Granger's shoulders.

The Weaslette's expression turned stern as she switched her attention to her brother. "Ron, mum says you should Owl her. You haven't since you left the Burrow and she's going mad.

"What's she worried about? It's not like we're in danger of being attacked by power-hungry dark wizards anymore, and I'm of age, besides!" Weasley stated petulantly.

"Tell that to mum," the Weaslette replied. "She made me promise to berate you when I next saw you and warn you that she'll resort to Howlers."

"Alright, alright," Weasley put up his hands in surrender, but he'd noticeably paled. "I'll Owl her in the morning."

Draco snorted and everyone's attention switched to him. The Weaslette looked between him and Potter questioningly. Draco wouldn't be surprised if she'd only just noticed his presence at that moment, as fixated as she'd been on Potter since arriving.

"Have something to say, Malfoy?" Weasley asked.

"Nothing you'd appreciate, I'm sure." Draco smirked.

Weasley glared at him. "You remember Malfoy, don't you Ginny? He and Harry are best mates now, apparently."

The Weaslette appeared a bit incredulous and her gaze switched back to Potter. "Is that so?"

Draco found himself glancing at Potter as well, interested in how he'd respond, but just as Potter opened his mouth, McGonagall announced the sorting. The Weaslette and Looney Lovegood were forced to leave and sit with their own respective Houses, much to Draco's satisfaction.

The sorting took place, and each House table cheered heartily as each tiny, anxious First Year joined them. The Eighth Year Gryffindors, including Potter, all clapped politely when a First Year was added to Gryffindor's ranks. Draco watched the Slytherins cheer for one of their own, but instead of feeling happy or smug, he felt oddly detached. That wasn't where he belonged anymore. He knew that now. Trouble was, he wasn't entirely convinced he belonged where he was, at present, either.

Sullenly, he looked up and down the table, noting the pride on the faces of the Eighth Years when their old House gained a new member; Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor again. Potter caught his eye then, sending him a questioning look. Draco just shook his head, and looked away. He could feel Potter's gaze linger on him for a bit, and Draco did his best not to lash out at the unwanted pity, until he finally looked away too.

McGonagall gave a decidedly mundane speech about school rules, which held none of the drama of her previous speech to the Eighth Years alone. Draco was grateful for that. He didn't think he could stomach sitting through another one of those. She introduced Professor Proudfoot and the new Transfiguration professor, Loxley. He was a squirrely looking man who seemed to flinch at any small movement.

"He reminds me of Professor Quirrell," Potter murmured behind him as McGonagall droned on about the man's credentials.

"Yes, but hopefully this one doesn't sport a dark wizard on the back of his head," Draco replied, glancing back at Potter.

"I doubt it," Potter stated with a grin. "He isn't wearing a turbin."

"I don't know, Potter," Draco drawled. "His hair is quite long, and I think I smell garlic."

Potter chuckled, but it was a bit too loud, and several students in the Great Hall looked at him, including McGonagall, who had paused in her speech to send him a withering stare. Potter had the grace to look sheepish, and Draco smirked.

"Prat," Potter accused, just under his breath.

"Attention-seeker," Draco rejoined from the corner of his mouth, smirk still firmly in place.

Potter scowled and sank further into his seat. Finnigan glared at Draco accusatorily, as if this was all a part of his dastardly plan to embarrass his hero. However, he noticed the Weaslette was also sending him and Potter an odd look, and that heightened his mood considerably.

Eventually, McGonagall sat down and their plates and goblets filled. Mercifully, the distraction of food was enough for most in the Great Hall to stop staring at Potter and Draco could practically feel the tension leave the wizard's body as he sat upright and dug in. Conversation ebbed considerably as they all began to eat, and it was a welcome respite. The food smelled glorious, and Draco enjoyed listening to the low hum of conversation from across the Great Hall and the clinking silverware on plates as he ate. He could almost imagine he was back in his first year, when everything was less complicated. Potter passed him some rolls before Longbottom engaged him in conversation. Draco barely listened, content for the moment, and tired.

Time passed that way until McGonagall dismissed them all to their respective Houses. It was only as they were trudging into the entrance hall, however, that the Weaslette caught up to them and grabbed Potter's arm.

She sent him a meaningful look. "Could I talk to you, Harry?"

Potter nodded after only a moment, before he glanced over at Draco. "I'll see you later, Malfoy."

Draco nodded, but the Weaslette never spared a glance for him. She gazed up at Potter through long dark eyelashes, and Draco couldn't help observing how pleasingly her fiery hair fell around her delicate cheek bones as it glowed in the torchlight. He pushed down the inexplicably ugly feelings that were rising inside of him as he followed the rest of the Eighth Years back to their House.

Draco sat in the common room for some time, staring at the fire long after most of the Eighth Years went to bed. He told himself he wasn't waiting for Potter, and then he wondered how many times he'd have to tell himself that before he truly believed it. He knew he was being absurd, but he couldn't drudge up the will to stop himself.

Potter never came, and at half-midnight, Draco finally admitted defeat and made his way up to bed. He fell asleep with his hand clenched around the scar, his fingernails indenting the unfeeling flesh.


	5. Is What Needs Maintain

"Get up, mate."

Draco slid his sticky eyes open to blearily stare up at the ceiling. He could hear voices on the other side of his bed curtains, and he realized he must have forgotten to cast a silencing charm on them the night before. He recognized Potter's voice, hoarse with sleep.

"What time is it?"

"Time for breakfast," Weasley replied and there was a soft thump as if he patted Potter's covers. "The others are already gone."

There was a rustling of sheets followed by the creak of a mattress.

"You look knackered."

"Late night."

"Doing what?"

There was a pause. "Talking to Ginny."

Draco tensed, suddenly remembering the previous night, how he'd waited for hours in front of the fire place like an anxious housewife. It was sickening, and he began to resent Potter for making him feel that way in the first place.

"Only talking?" Weasley ribbed.

" _Ron_ ," Potter bit back, and there was the rustling of cloth.

"What? I wasn't asking for details. She's my sister," Weasley retorted with a note of disgust. "Have you two decided to have another go, then?"

Potter sighed. "Yeah…but –"

Draco didn't want to hear any more. He pulled back his curtains and got out of bed as noisily as possible, enough to steal Potter and Weasley's attention. Potter was standing beside his four-poster across the room, one of his arms half-way through the sleeve of his shirt. Weasley was fully dressed, leaning against one of the posts. They both stared at him for a shocked moment, before Weasley's expression settled into a scowl. Potter, however, had the gall to look relieved, of all things.

"Malfoy." Potter pulled his shirt all the way on and smiled. "We were just heading down to breakfast. You coming?"

Draco glared at him and Potter's brows knitted in confusion. "I need to take a shower."

"Oh," Potter replied, and shared a look with Weasley. The ginger shook his head, but Potter ignored it. "We can stay until you're done."

"Don't bother, Potter," Draco sneered petulantly. "I wouldn't want to keep you _waiting_."

Draco went about gathering his robes and didn't even attempt to use his wand to Accio his hair potion. He didn't need further embarrassment, and besides, he was so angry, he would probably set fire to his hair potion instead.

"What's your problem, Malfoy?" Weasley barked out indignantly, but Potter put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

This only served to make Draco angrier with the git. As if he needed Potter to defend him. He slammed into Potter's shoulder on his way to the bathroom, nearly knocking him over.

"What?" Potter huffed in surprise.

"Bugger off!" Draco spat as he entered the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.

There was a silence on the other side of the door and then Draco could hear Weasley's raised voice. "Merlin's dangling bollocks! What's crawled up his bum and died?"

There was a pause and then Potter replied, "He isn't a morning person." But he sounded uncertain, and confused.

"Neither am I, but that doesn't mean I faff about like a two-tonne troll when I wake up," Weasley muttered.

Potter sighed. "C'mon. Let's go."

Fuming, Draco heard the door to the dormitory open and close before he ripped off his pajamas and stepped into the shower. He let the hot water pound over him and rested his forehead against the cool tiles. It was absurd how angry he was, how betrayed he felt, as if Potter owed him anything. As if what Potter was doing wasn't completely expected. Draco was being stupid, which wasn't a first for him by any stretch, but he couldn't help the way he acted around Potter. He never could. Potter had always gotten under his skin, or maybe he'd never left. Even now he could feel something unwanted digging into his chest and he didn't wish to explore why it was there.

He angrily scrubbed the potion into his hair and the suds slid down into his face, stinging his eyes. He grimaced, if this morning was any indication, the coming day promised to be awful.

He wasn't wrong.

When he exited the Griffin portal, the hallways were full of students, many of whom looked wary around him. A fair number appeared truly afraid of him, a large portion of those being first years, of course. It probably didn't help that his expression was set into a permanent glower and he glared at anyone who crossed his path, but he couldn't give a toss about that. It was probably best that they were only afraid of him and not openly hostile. He wasn't certain he could defend himself with his practically useless wand anyway.

He had to fight his way through crowds of students who were clustered around the jagged openings in the stone walls. Some Gryffindors were stupid enough to tap their wands against the shimmering barriers, getting them a painful jolt of protective magic for their trouble. Some were doing it more than once and laughing like imbeciles, then convincing passing students to do the same. Draco uncharitably hoped they all landed in the hospital wing.

Breakfast over, the Great Hall was empty when he entered, save for McGonagall who stood beside the Eighth Year table and stonily observed his approach. Draco made sure to school his features into a more neutral expression, hiding his foul mood as he stepped up to her. He would have escaped the Great Hall entirely but for that fact that she held his term schedule and he had need of it. McGonagall raised one severe eyebrow.

"You are late, Mr. Malfoy," she observed sternly.

Draco simply nodded, for lack of a better response.

She looked down at him disapprovingly, most likely scrutinizing his expression for any sign that he was mocking her. Her lips pursed when she didn't seem to find anything untoward and she finally held out his schedule. "See that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, Professor," Draco muttered obediently, and took the parchment.

"And do not forget to sign the parchment posted in your common room if you wish to attend the Animagus class," she added. "It will be collected by the house elves at midnight, no later."

Draco nodded vaguely, and opened his schedule. He relaxed a bit when he realized he would have Ancient Runes with Professor Bathsheda Babbling first. That had been one of his best subjects Sixth year, until he'd grown horribly distracted by other events at the end of term, and wand use was minimal if not nonexistent. There was also a very high probability that neither the Weasel nor Potter would be taking the course.

What he had forgotten, however, was that there was a high probability Granger would be, and sure enough, the moment he entered the classroom, he spotted her embedded within a cluster of Eighth Year former-Ravenclaws at the front of the room. Mercifully, Granger had yet to notice him and he intended to keep it that way. The room was almost full with lower years already, but Draco hastily took the one remaining seat at the back, near a window. He planned to sit the lesson out undisturbed.

Unfortunately, the moment Professor Babbling entered the room, she called for them all to partner up. Draco tensed, having no desire to partner with any of the obnoxious whelps around him. Fortunately, they were giving him a wide berth and pairing up with one another. Unfortunately, so were the former-Ravenclaws up front. Granger turned around in her seat, searching the room before noticing him and sending him a speculative look.

He glared forbiddingly at her, but she seemed to take that as an invitation to approach him.

"You weren't at breakfast," she observed nosily as she sat down in the now-empty seat beside his.

"Do you usually greet others by pointing out their eating habits?" Draco questioned with a sneer.

"No," she replied with a shake of her bushy head. "I just don't care to know how you are."

"Charming," Draco observed disdainfully. "Then may I ask what you think you are doing?"

"Sitting," Granger replied shortly with a clipped smile.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. He could tell she was enjoying this immensely. "Then sit somewhere else."

"But that would make it very hard to work together," Granger replied with faux thoughtfulness, not moving an inch.

"I don't remember agreeing to work with you, Granger," Draco scowled.

"You didn't," she replied easily, pulling out her text books and placing them on her desk with a heavy thud. "But there is no one else to partner with."

Draco glared at her, but she was right. The rest of the students had found their match, and there was nothing he could do about it. He glanced back at her suspiciously. "Haven't you already taken this course?"

"In fifth year, yes." Granger nodded.

"Did you not pass your O.W.L.?" Draco questioned, finding that unbelievable. No matter how much he loathed her, he could not deny that she was an overbearing know-it-all.

"I managed an Outstanding," she replied modestly, as if this had been a shock to her. "But I like the subject, so McGonagall agreed to let me take it again with supplementary coursework."

Draco sent her a look. "Do you harbor an insatiable need to overcompensate in everything you do, Granger?"

"Shhh," she hissed distractedly, a forefinger at her lips. Professor Babbling had started speaking from the front of the room.

Draco scowled with annoyance, but he didn't press it. Professor Babbling instructed them all to turn to page five-hundred-and-two and get to work translating the runes with their partner.

"I'll translate the first half, and you can translate the rest," Granger stated bossily.

Draco thought about defying her, but instantly grew tired of the idea. Given how argumentative she was, starting a row with her would be difficult to finish. Besides, it was probably best that they didn't translate the pieces together, given their non-existent ability to collaborate. He took out his quill and parchment, and set to work translating the runic text from the second paragraph, and they fell into a silence only broken by the scratching of their quills. It was almost, dare he think it, pleasant. Of course, the moment he thought it, he should have known it wouldn't last.

"So, you weren't at breakfast," she observed again.

He sent her an incredulous look. "What is with this obsession of yours, Granger? You're almost as bad as Potter."

"How so?" she asked curiously, finally pulling her full attention from her parchment to look at him.

"You both harbor an unhealthy fascination with my eating habits."

"Harry's just concerned," Granger informed him, just as she dipped her quill into her ink pot.

"Oh?" Draco questioned doubtfully. "And what's your excuse?"

She surveyed him critically for a moment, her mouth pulled into a frown. "I'm concerned on his behalf."

"I don't need your pity," Draco spat. "You can tell that to Potter as well."

"Is that why you weren't at breakfast?"

Draco stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words. "Breakfast has nothing to do with it."

"Alright," she stated, but she sounded unconvinced, and Draco bristled.

"I just wasn't hungry, alright?" Draco pressed. "I wasn't avoiding it or some such rot."

"You should tell that to Harry," Granger stated. "He was upset. He thought he had done something wrong."

"I never said he hadn't," Draco muttered bitterly.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing, Granger," Draco snapped, then shook his head. "I can't concentrate with all of your inane prattling."

Granger glared at him, but she fell mercifully silent after that. They spent the rest of the class period quietly translating their runes, but all the while Draco couldn't help thinking of what Granger had said about Potter being upset. In the end he decided it was just what the git deserved, and worked to push it out of his mind.

He had Herbology next, but so did Granger, and even though he made sure to leave the class room well before her, she stubbornly caught up with him in the halls and didn't leave his side all the way to the green houses. After attempting several times to give her the slip and failing, he decided to ignore her. The worst was, she barely seemed affected by the treatment. She just walked resolutely beside him, a small smile on her lips. It was infuriating.

Upon entering the green house, Draco noticed that most of the class was already there. It was filled to the brim with Eighth Years, including Weasley and Potter. They were both at the front, standing beside a large potted Venomous Tentacula. Potter appeared a bit preoccupied, a small frown pulling at his lips, but neither he nor Weasley had noticed him yet so Draco made his way for the back. However, he could not account for Granger latching an astonishingly strong arm around his and manhandling him in the opposite direction.

"Unhand me, you wench!" Draco hissed as he struggled against her hold, but she ignored him and maintained her iron grasp.

Much to Draco's consternation, Potter and Weasley noticed their struggle. Potter's expression was apprehensive at best, but something sparked in his once dull green eyes. Draco scowled uncomfortably and Granger led him straight to Potter, before finally letting him go. He glared at her, but she remained unmoved as Weasley slid a casual arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. Draco didn't hold back his shudder of disgust at their display.

"You shouldn't have done that, Hermione," the Weasel opined, giving Draco the stink-eye. "He's right barking mad. Who knows what he'll do to you now?"

"Piss off, Weasel," Draco spat, ignoring Potter altogether. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I was on my way to the back."

"Wait," Potter uttered and grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving.

Draco shook off the loose hold and glared at him warningly. "Don't touch me."

"What's wrong with you?" Potter questioned heatedly, his expression morphing from bafflement to frustration.

"Nothing," Draco retorted.

"Then why are so angry?" Potter rejoined, his eyes flashing in challenge.

"That should be obvious," Draco sneered.

"What's obvious?" Potter questioned, pushing a hand through his messy locks and making it stand on end even more. Draco hated himself for itching to smooth it. "Was it something I did?"

"It's everything you do, Potter," Draco informed him coldly. "Just toss off."

Draco turned on his heel and walked back down the aisle to a spot near the back of the green house. Potter didn't go after him, and a part of Draco was incensed with him for that too, which was ridiculous. He passed Finnigan and Smith with barely a glance in their direction, but he could feel their eyes on him as he took a spot beside a planter at the furthest end of the room.

Blessedly, Professor Sprout entered shortly thereafter, instructing them all to get to work repotting some Mimbulous Mimbletonia, which apparently Longbottom had provided the seeds for. He was standing beside her like an assistant as she instructed them all on how to handle the plants. Draco had honestly forgotten that Longbottom had ever been good at anything, but it was obvious that he was quite adept with the plants as he demonstrated how to remove them from their pots without triggering their defense mechanism.

"The trick is holding it gently around the base like this, see?" Longbottom stated as he held one up. "You don't want to get sapped. The stink wouldn't get out for a week, believe me."

Most of the class nodded, some stepping back a healthy distance from their pots and sharing grimaces, but Draco was distracted by Potter, who was sending him probing, bewildered looks every few minutes. Granger had the gall to look disappointed as she glanced between them both. Draco pretended he hadn't noticed either of them and immediately switched his attention to the decidedly more insipid planter in front of him.

In the end, Draco managed to repot his Mimbletonia with minimal effort. He supposed Longbottom was good at something after all. They spent the rest of the class watering the plants as Professor Sprout instructed them on their properties. Draco barely listened. His skin prickled when he suspected Potter was watching him. His attention was growing irksome.

Draco was relieved when they were released and free to get lunch. He exited the Green House as quickly as possible and made his way to the Great Hall before anyone else from the class. He didn't bother taking a seat at the Eighth Year table, but scooped up a sandwich and a goblet of pumpkin juice before making his way right back out. He found a secluded spot in the shade of one of the archways in a courtyard and dug into his lunch, idly watching other students as they milled about, ignorant of his presence.

Much against his better judgment, his mind turned to Potter and he wondered what he was doing at that moment. Unfortunately, he didn't have to wonder for long. Potter, himself, walked out into the sunlight of the courtyard with the Weaslette at his side. Heads all about the courtyard turned as the famous couple perched themselves on the lip of the fountain. The Weaslette leaned in and they quietly conversed. The onlookers didn't even attempt to appear disinterested in their presence. Draco scowled at their behavior, but made a hypocrite of himself when he couldn't tear his eyes away from the couple either. He was gripped by a masochistic curiosity as the Weaslette took Potter's hand in hers. Potter merely looked down at their entwined fingers. She said something, dipping her head close, and he looked up just before she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. The couple exchanged a few more words, their faces just inches apart, and Draco's appetite slowly abandoned him. Eventually, the Weaslette got up and left shortly after. Potter sat at the fountain for a long moment, his eyes unfocused as if he was struggling to surface out of some sort of love-struck daze. It seemed an eternity before he got up and left toward the grounds, leaving a courtyard full of chattering students in his wake. The emptiness in Draco's stomach had been replaced with something heavy, and he threw the rest of his sandwich beside the fountain where it became a meal for the crows.

He leaned back against the column behind him, sinking more fully into the shadows. His next class was Potions with Slughorn, which was both a blessing and a curse. Potions was unmistakably his best subject and usually one he loved, but he was certain that Potter and Weasley would also be attending due to Auror requirements. He wasn't looking forward to it.

Inevitably, the courtyard emptied and he was forced to grudgingly make his way to the dungeons. He was the last to enter the class room, just a second before the class began. He was displeased to note that he would have to sit in the one remaining seat beside Longbottom, which was a foreboding position. Worse yet, Finnigan and Thomas sat just behind him and Smith sat on the other side of Longbottom. Mercifully, Potter was sitting on the other side of the room beside Weasley. In an unexpected twist, Granger had taken a seat beside Lisa Turpin, in lieu of sitting with her boyfriend. As he sat down, Longbottom sent him a shaky smile and Draco nodded to him wearily.

Potter's gaze had latched onto Draco the moment he'd entered the room, and now he was watching him searchingly. Draco looked away, conspiring to ignore him completely for the rest of the class period just as he had in Herbology.

Slughorn trundled into the room only a moment later, beaming at them all. "Ah, welcome NEWT-level Eighth Years! I see we have all made it down to the dungeons intact. I hope your first day of the new term has been enjoyable."

The class mumbled a vague assent.

"Excellent!" He moved to stand behind his desk. "As this is a somewhat unconventional class, full of particularly gifted students," Slughorn openly beamed at Potter and Draco rolled his eyes. "I have concocted a unique and, dare I say it, more challenging lesson plan for this coming term."

An apprehensive murmur rose from the class, but he only beamed at them all. "I am sure it will all be well within your capabilities, do not worry! After all, nothing could be more difficult than the trials of the past year, hm?"

The room silenced uncomfortably at that.

"No, I think not," Slughorn blathered on obtusely. "No, this term you will learn far more than your average NEWT students. We will explore the most complex and valuable potions known to Potions Masters. Can anyone guess what those might include?"

Predictably, Granger's hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Slughorn enquired warmly.

"Could we, perhaps, be learning how to brew Felix Felicis?" She questioned.

A low murmur swept through the room, and even Draco couldn't help a stirring of interest.

Slughorn beamed at her, and nodded. "Quite right, Miss Granger, well done! Ten points for…Erm…your House!" he appeared a bit disoriented for a moment. Draco scoffed, their House wasn't even included in the points system, but he supposed it was asking too much for the old doffer to realize that.

"Yes." Slughorn finally continued. "We will be brewing Felix as well as two others. Can anyone guess the remaining two?" He looked about the room. "Anyone?"

Draco shot his hand up.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?" Slughorn's enquiry was comparatively frigid when directed toward him, but Draco had prepared himself for it.

"Veritaserum," Draco stated blandly.

"Yes, very good," Slughorn nodded. "Ten points to your House as well. And the other?"

No one raised their hand, and after a long moment, Slughorn sighed before smiling again.

"I see I was right," he stated thoughtfully. "I had suspected that this would be the one potion you could not guess. It is so often underestimated, and so often overlooked. No one can guess it?"

The class remained silent, and Draco was admittedly stumped himself.

"I speak of Amortentia," Slughorn informed them, smiling benignly as a wave of muttering washed over the class. "I have shown each of these potions to you in your Sixth Year, but now I shall show you all how to brew them. They are complicated, but not impossible, and each one is highly valued for its usages and properties. We shall brew Amortentia, followed by Veritaserum first, as they are infinitely less complicated and only take a moon's cycle to brew each. The final potion will be Felix, which will take six cycles to brew correctly."

Granger's hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, the ingredients for these potions are incredibly rare and expensive, some are tightly controlled by the Ministry –"

"Quite right, Miss Granger," Slughorn interrupted jovially. "But do not fret! I have managed to procure all that we require with express permission from the Ministry, of course." He glanced at Potter once again. "The Auror department, in particular, appeared quite keen to make sure my students were properly prepared."

He surveyed them all with a daft smile. "Any further enquiries? No? Excellent." He flicked his wand and a series of ingredients appeared on the black board beside him. "Before we delve into the more complicated potions, I thought it prudent to brew a considerably less time-consuming draught for our first day. However, this potion was expressly chosen for its particular relationship to one of the potions we will be brewing later. Can anyone tell us what it is?"

No one raised their hand, and the class fell silent. Most students sported blank expressions, although some, like Granger, appeared to be lost in thought. Draco looked over the ingredients and mentally cross-referenced them with what he knew. He considered what potion might relate to one of the three potions they were slated to brew this term, and suddenly, he knew. He raised his hand.

Slughorn didn't notice him for a while as he kept watching Potter expectantly, but eventually he realized Draco's hand was up and failed to successfully hide his disappointment. "Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco did his best not to sneer at him. "It appears to be the Odio Draught, sir."

"Quite right, Mister Malfoy," Slughorn replied. "And can you tell us what it does?"

"It is also known as the Hate Potion," Draco drawled. "It reveals the worst traits and habits of a particular person to the drinker. It is the opposite potion of Amortentia, as both can undo the other's effects."

"Very good, Mister Malfoy," Slughorn commended, his expression warming slightly. "Your answer was incredibly thorough."

Draco allowed himself a smug smile as Finnigan's glare burned into the back of his head.

"As Mister Malfoy so aptly concluded," Slughorn continued. "We will be brewing the Odio Draught today. It should only take a short while to complete, for hatred is easily sown if not easily remedied."

"You all have half an hour to complete the potion with your partners, and I expect them all to be perfect!" Slughorn informed them with a curve of his lips. "You will find everything you need in the cupboard. You may start now."

Longbottom stood up and sent Draco a wary look. "I'll get the ingredients, shall I?"

"Alright," Draco agreed, and pulled out his cauldron, settling it on the table with a soft thunk. The next moment he looked up, Longbottom was conversing with Potter in front of the store cupboard, both of them sending him not-so-subtle glances. Draco scowled, narrowing his eyes. Potter's frown deepened in return, and he finally looked away for good, collecting his ingredients and leaving Longbottom's side.

Longbottom returned not long after, tumbling his load onto the desk beside their cauldron.

"I'll deal with the actual brewing," Draco instructed as Longbottom sat down. "Merlin knows what would happen if I let you do it."

Longbottom sent him a look, but didn't protest.

"You can chop up the Wormwood," Draco stated as a placed a bundle of it in front of Longbottom. "I'll tell you when it's enough."

Longbottom obediently set to chopping as Draco read through the instructions in his text book.

"Harry wants to know why you're avoiding him," Longbottom mumbled into the silence.

Draco scowled. "I've already been asked by him in person. There's no need for him to employ his lackeys to do the same."

Longbottom shrugged uncomfortably as he carefully chopped. "He just wants to know."

"I've already told him," Draco snapped. "Apparently he's incapable of accepting my answer. That's enough, Longbottom. Give it here."

Longbottom scooped up the chopped Wormwood and dumped it into a brass measuring cup Draco held. Draco dumped it into the cauldron. "Now I need three plucked Puffer Fish Eyes."

Longbottom nodded and picked three out of a jar, before placing them in Draco's open palm.

"Good," Draco observed, and dropped them into the cauldron.

They worked like this for the rest of the period, Longbottom perfectly silent about the matter with Potter as he docilely handed Draco ingredients. When it was all prepared, Draco stirred the contents six times clockwise, six times back, and six times clockwise again.

"Now to heat the cauldron," Draco murmured and pulled out his wand, flicking it. He never once realized his dangerous mistake until it was too late.

Instead of lighting a small fire, a large blaze roared beneath the cauldron, making the potion bubble threateningly. Longbottom yelped in dismay and had the sense to jump out of his seat, but Draco hastened to undo his spell, which only made it worse. The fire exploded outward and the mixture splattered all over him, burning him wherever it clung to his flesh. He fell to the floor, crying out in pain, vague memories of Fiendfyre racing through his mind as he attempted to ineffectually wipe it off of his face. He could hear other people screaming in alarm, but it was distant, as if he was hearing it through a long tunnel. Everything was chaos and the pain was unbearable.

"Evanesco!"

Suddenly, the excruciating pain ebbed and Draco opened his sticky eyes. He gingerly sat up and saw Slughorn looking down at him with a deeply concerned expression. Draco made the mistake of touching his own face, which stung so painfully that he wrenched his fingers away. His hands were red and blistered, and Draco suspected with no small amount of horror that his face was the same way.

"Are you alright, my boy?" Slughorn asked. "Can you stand?" He cupped a hand beneath Draco's armpit, but Draco hissed with the resultant pain and Slughorn let go.

The rest of the class had gathered around him now, and Draco could just pick out Potter's horrified expression from within the crowd of onlookers. Longbottom appeared stunned but unhurt as he slowly stood up from where he had fallen to the floor on the other side of the desk. Humiliated, Draco took a deep breath and attempted to stand on his own, the pain of his palms as he pressed them into the floor for leverage was nothing compared to the damage to his pride. He managed to stand, avoiding everyone's eyes, and trying to ignore the way his skin stretched painfully every time he moved.

"I'm alright," Draco muttered stubbornly, moving his jaw just enough that it ached.

"It's the Hospital Wing for you, I'm afraid," Slughorn instructed sympathetically. "Pomfrey will set you to rights, not to worry. Mister Longbottom will take care of your personal effects."

Longbottom nodded and Draco, thoroughly embarrassed, did not make eye contact as he gingerly made his way out of the room. Pain lanced through him with every step, making his journey arduous. When he finally got to the Hospital Wing, it was much later. Pomfrey immediately fussed over him and forced him to strip from the waist up.

"What's happened, dear boy?" she questioned. "This doesn't look like Quidditch."

"No, a potion," Draco replied and painfully raised his arms as she helped remove his shirt. "Odio Draught."

She paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "It is one thing to get scalded by a potion, but it is quite another to get burned by hatred. It tends to linger, you see. Seeps right in." She gently guided him to sit on a mattress. "This may take some time."

 _Of course_ , Draco sighed wearily, and she bustled off to the potions cupboard. When she came back, she had a potion and a jar of orange paste in hand.

She raised the pink potion bottle. "Amortentia for the hate," she informed him crisply. "And burn-healing paste."

At his look of alarm, she smiled a bit. "Don't worry, Mister Malfoy. You will not have to swallow the Amortentia. I will mix it with the paste and apply it topically."

Draco relaxed a bit and nodded. "Very well."

She conjured a pan and mixed the orange paste with the pearly white Amortentia before applying it to his blistered skin. He unconsciously breathed the scent in, relaxing a bit. It smelled like a mixture of his mother's sweets, ozone just before a rain, and a pleasingly musky scent he couldn't quite place. He flinched every time she touched him, but she made no comment about it and he strove to remain as still as possible. Once the concoction soaked into his skin, the pain lessened and the knots in his muscles unraveled. By the time she had finished his back, he was sagged forward. She made him straighten up, before doing his front. First his swollen face and down to his chest before treating his arms and hands. When she had finished, she coaxed him to lie back against the sheets. He noticed that the swelling was already going down on his chest and it was much easier to breathe.

"You should be good as new in a few hours," she stated. "Then we can wash this off."

Draco nodded, relieved that his painfully tight skin had already loosened considerably.

She left and he stared up at the ceiling, the familiar feelings of anger and shame washing away his momentary relief. He hadn't even brought his wand with him to the Hospital Wing. He supposed Longbottom had it now, which Draco was glad of. If he had it, he'd probably snap it in two in a fit of pique, and then where would he be? He'd be a squib, just as Peeves had accused. And of course, Potter had witnessed the entire disaster. Just his luck.

Exhausted, Draco fell into a troubled sleep, plagued by vague visions of abandonment, fear, and loss. When he next awoke, Pomfrey was standing above him, brandishing her wand in the torch light.

"There now, sit up and let me clean you. Then you can leave," she instructed.

He did as he was told, his skin no longer tight and stinging, and she flicked her wand. "Scourgify."

His newly healed skin tingled with the spell, but was otherwise unaffected, and he immediately moved to get up. He noticed it was dark outside the windows as she handed him his shirt and robes, and he took them gratefully.

The halls were silent when he exited the Hospital Wing. Many of the portraits along the walls were sitting down for a meal, which told him the students must be eating dinner in the Great Hall. Having no desire to do the same, Draco made his way down to the kitchens and requested a plate from Nibby.

On his way back, he was quite certain he was alone in the halls, until he heard footfalls behind him. He barely turned to glance back before someone shouted, "Impedimentia!" and he was knocked off of his feet.

Draco groaned against the cold floor as the shards of his once-intact plate and pieces of the dinner it had held were scattered around him. He gasped in a shallow, shuddering breath, the wind momentarily knocked out of him.

"Take that, Death Eater scum!" someone shouted and several others laughed.

Draco attempted to sit up to identify his attacker, but by the time he did, the hallway was empty. Draco stood up gingerly, his body aching and he brushed himself off as best he could. His fisted hands shook uncontrollably and his chest tightened with resentment. No longer hungry, he slowly made his way to the Eighth Year dorms, forgoing dinner. When he arrived, he found his useless wand, along with the rest of his belongings, haphazardly piled onto his mattress. He stared at the mess for a moment, his body shaking. Something snapped deep within him and a choked cry escaped his lips before he swept it all onto the floor.

He violently kicked off his shoes and ripped off his robes before dropping heavily onto his bed. He roughly pulled the curtains closed, and vowed to never open them again.

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes when he closed them and he clenched his scarred hand against his chest. He lay like that, trembling and curled up in a fetal position, until his breathing evened out and he finally, mercifully, dropped off to sleep.


	6. But Your Temper is Not Your Friend

The next morning found Draco eating breakfast in the Owlery, attempting to read his mother's latest missive. After tossing and turning all night, he'd given up at about four in the morning and snuck down to the kitchens for some much needed sustenance. His empty stomach was much less cantankerous now that he filled it with pancakes drizzled in sweet syrup, but his eyes remained uncomfortably puffy with fatigue as he attempted to make out the words in his mother's curling cursive.

It was dark in the tower, but unless he was desperate enough to light himself on fire, his wand was of little help. He eventually gave up trying to read and fingered the long, rectangular package that now sat in his lap. It had come with the letter, but something kept him from tearing it open. He couldn't help the tremor of unease that raced up his spine just by looking at it. Instead, he stared out through the tall archways until the first light of dawn broke over the mountains. He glanced down at the parchment in his hand every once and awhile until his mother's words stood out in stark contrast to the yellowed sheet beneath, just enough that it didn't strain his eyes to read them.

With a tiny jolt of pleasure, he devoured her script. He would never admit it out loud, but in that moment, he yearned for words that were uncomplicated and kind. Something he was confident his mother would provide him.

_Dearest Dragon,_

_I hope this missive finds you well. The manor is remarkably hollow without you in it, but that is to be expected. I can see your fair brows knitting with concern, but do not fret, Draco. An empty manor is far preferable to a haunted one, and I can assure you that the foul spectres have made their leave. I am free to inhabit the rooms in unfettered solitude, only visited by my memories if I should choose to invite them in. More often, I retreat to the gardens where the flowers guard my spirit and clear my mind. I hope that you have found moments of such peace at Hogwarts, and if not, distraction enough to divert you from your demons._

_As a mother, I can only wish ill on those who seek to cause you distress, but I am also aware of our position, and I know that a mother's protection will not help you navigate the obstacles you face. I can only remind you that you are stronger than your cruelest detractors, and are fully capable of surviving through the harshest of circumstances. Those of lesser spirit may seek to make you feel otherwise, but do not heed them, dragon. They have yet to overcome demons of their own._

_I have sent you something that I am led to believe will help you in this respect. Do keep me abreast of your progress and give my regards to Mr. Potter._

_With love,_

_Mum_

Draco's breath hitched at the final words, a sense of dread clutching at him, and the weight of the package seemed to double upon his lap. Potter. The parcel sat there as innocuously as before, but he couldn't help eyeing it with suspicion. He knew now why he had been so very wary of it before. The shape was too peculiar, just the right size to hold something he had vowed to never lay eyes upon again. He found it hard to believe that Potter would take the initiative to contact his mother directly or that she would willingly agree to his request. Although, he realized that was stupid. The new familiarity wasn't odd at all, given what had passed between his mother and Potter at the end of the war. They shared a bond of mutual sacrifice now, and Potter was taking advantage of that to go behind Draco's back and make him confront something he had no desire to face.

Draco skimmed over his mother's writing again, his fingers shaking.

_I have sent you something that I am led to believe will help you in this respect. Keep me abreast of your progress and give my regards to Mr. Potter._

Anger curled in Draco's gut, dulling the constant fear that sent his heart racing. His mother had suspected his struggles, but Potter had effectively confirmed her fears with his solicitation of the wand. As was his character, Potter had acted without restraint, meddling in affairs he lacked the subtlety to navigate and charging through like a blundering knight in Gryffindor robes. Now, whether inadvertent or not, he had shamed Draco in his mother's eyes.

As always, Potter apparently thought he knew what was best. He insisted that Draco's old wand would accept him as its rightful master, but by all rights, he had no way to know that for certain. As far as Draco was concerned, Potter was forcing him to use the wand on a lark and he wasn't the one it would cost if he was wrong. What's more, Draco had expressly told him he had yet to come to a decision on the matter, and instead of trusting Draco to take care of it, he had shown just how little he respected his judgment or his ability to take care of himself.

Draco scowled. He didn't need Potter's help or his charity, and he had not fallen so far that he could not deal with his own problems. He knew who Potter was and how he operated. He was a savior in every sense of the word. He saved people because that was what he did, not necessarily because he cared about them. Potter certainly hadn't rescued Draco from the clutches of fiendfyre out of a friendly sense of concern. More likely, he had been motivated by his potent guilt complex. Clearly, those feelings hadn't changed. Draco bitterly eyed the fountain in the courtyard below, just where Potter and the Weaslette had so openly embraced the day before.

Two weeks ago, Draco had been alone and spurned by his peers, a social outcast in the wizarding world. It was clear that Potter wouldn't have been able to resist playing the hero for such a pathetic figure. Draco was the perfect project, like a feral cat that had been declawed, unable to fend for itself. Potter's overtures of the past few weeks all made sense now. He simply couldn't let people fall through the cracks, even his enemies, and he was driven by an insatiable need to save Draco from himself. Well, Draco was tired of his pity. He could take care of himself, and he absolutely refused to use that wand to do so. He would not give it an opportunity to betray him again.

On the heels of these dark thoughts, Draco balanced the offending package on his scarred palm, and contemplated chucking it out of the Owlery to die a splintered death on the craggy rocks below. In the end, he stuffed it into his bag amidst his school things and vowed to lock it in his trunk the moment he reentered his dormitory.

He carefully folded the letter and placed it between the pages of a leather-bound notebook, stamped with the Malfoy crest on the cover. It was old and worn on the edges, dog-eared from years of use. It had been his father's parting gift before his first year at Hogwarts, which made it a relic of a privileged childhood, unfettered by the pain and struggle that would come later.

Draco traced the time-weathered indentations of the crest with his thumb as the sun rose higher in the sky. Most of the owls were returning now after delivering packages to their masters in the Great Hall. Soon, he would have to go to his first class of the day, which he dreaded more than any other so far. It was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he had more than half a mind to skive off entirely. The only reason he knew he wouldn't was the fair chance that Auror Proudfoot would be entirely too pleased by his absence and the fact that it would no doubt give Potter more cause to pity him. He couldn't let that happen. It was time he acted like he had at least a modicum of pride. He would never gain any respect otherwise.

Despite this vow, he took his time on his way down to the DADA room. The halls and staircases were sparsely populated as most of the students had already entered their allotted classrooms. When he reached the heavy wooden door it was already closed and he could just hear the murmuring and shuffling of the Eighth Years beyond its threshold. He stopped and lingered, imprinting the crescents of his fingernails into the scarred palm of his hand as he schooled his expression into a disinterested mask. Finally, he raised his hand toward the knob, but something stopped him.

"Wait."

Draco tensed when he felt the invisible grip around his wrist. If he hadn't recognized the voice, his panic would have run away with him. As it was, he glanced at the expanse of nothingness behind him with a scowl. "Let go, Potter."

"No, not until…," Potter trailed off. "I just want to talk to you." His disembodied voice echoed throughout the empty, dawn-lit hallway, but his grip softened around Draco's wrist, belying the force of his words.

"Well, I don't," Draco spat, and he tugged at his captive wrist to no avail. "And I don't appreciate being ambushed by imbeciles in invisibility cloaks."

He glared at the empty air until it rippled unnaturally, revealing Potter's head, now floating in space. Potter's lips tugged down into a challenging frown, but his green eyes searched his from beneath lowered brows. "Better?"

"No," Draco denied stubbornly. "You're still touching me."

Potter stared at him a moment and gnawed at his bottom lip. Draco could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he weighed his options. Draco waited impatiently until Potter eventually loosened his grip around Draco's wrist and slid his hand away. "There. Now will you talk to me?"

Draco glared at him coldly, his earlier humiliation fanning the flames of his anger. He turned back toward the door. "You're making me late."

"Draco…" An invisible hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back around. Draco glared at him, but Potter didn't pull away. His expression was riddled with obvious frustration and utter bemusement.

Draco shrugged out of Potter's grip, suddenly very tired. It was all he could do to keep his cold mask from crumbling out of sheer fatigue. He eyed Potter warily and the wizard shifted his stance from one foot to the other, but his green gaze was unwavering.

"You wrote my mother," Draco hissed. Although he knew it barely touched to the root of his offense, it was the only thing he was willing to admit to.

"I don't –" Potter began, his brows knitting, but Draco cut him off.

"You requested that wand and had her send it without my consent," Draco elaborated coldly.

Potter's eyes widened a bit. "You got…? I just thought –"

"You had no right," Draco interrupted. "I can handle this issue on my own. I admit my current wand is problematic, but I will not use the one that had betrayed me." _For you_ , Draco mentally added with a grimace. "So kindly cease meddling in my affairs."

"That's why…?" Potter shook his head incredulously, wiping a hand over his face. Then he stiffened, his eyes narrowing. His earlier bafflement seemed a distant memory as his expression twisted into a scowl. "Wait…your wand is _problematic_? Don't be stupid, Malfoy. Your new wand is more than just…" He ran a hand through his messy locks, making them stand further on end, and he closed his eyes as if collecting himself. When he next opened them, something flashed in his green eyes. "That wand nearly _burned you alive_ yesterday."

Draco's hackles rose with humiliation. "That was a fluke, nothing more."

"It's a defective wand," Potter disputed stubbornly. "It doesn't channel your magic properly and it's dangerous. If you'd just use your old one, you'd see that – "

"Counter to what you may _think_ ," Draco cut in icily. "I am fully capable of making that decision on my own."

"But – !"

"I also understand that you are plagued by an insatiable need to save people, Potter, but I neither need nor want your salvation," Draco continued heatedly. "So kindly take your self-serving charity elsewhere and back the fuck off!"

"What…?" Potter uttered, gaping at him, but Draco quickly turned away and pushed through the classroom door, slamming it closed in Potter's dumbstruck face.

Unfortunately, Draco was met with a frosty silence on the other side of the threshold. His Housemates were all standing in assorted positions about the room and staring at him with varying degrees of dislike. He grimly realized that they had probably heard a fair bit of his argument with Potter. The Weasel, in particular, was outright scowling at him. Granger, who was standing beside him, shook her head reproachfully. Draco scowled. He couldn't quite give a toss about either of their condemnations as he simmered with lingering rage. It was Professor Proudfoot's opinion he was most concerned with. She stood at the front of the room, eyeing him with a distinct air of disapproval.

"You're late, Malfoy," she observed stonily.

Draco merely stood there, an apology buried somewhere beneath the lump of ire in his throat. She stared him down for a while longer, as if hoping he might break and start pleading for forgiveness. He refused to give her the satisfaction and she narrowed her eyes at him. It was a long tense moment before she finally ripped her unnerving attention away.

"Weasley, kindly invite Potter in," she barked. "We've been held up long enough."

Draco was a bit surprised by her rough treatment of a member of the Golden Trio, and it seemed the Weasel was as well with the way he stiffened. He stared at her a moment, wide-eyed, until he awkwardly mumbled his assent and shuffled toward the door. Draco regarded her suspiciously with new eyes. Her actions were unfathomable.

She regarded the door expectantly until the Weasel reentered, closely followed by Potter. Potter looked about the room before his gaze caught upon Draco, but then he frowned and quickly looked away. Draco admonished himself for resenting the cold treatment when he had been angling for it from the start.

"Good of you to finally join us, Potter," Professor Proudfoot noted curtly. "I trust this tardiness of yours will not become a habit."

Several Eighth Years shuffled their feet awkwardly, but Potter merely stared at her wide-eyed for a moment as if he couldn't quite believe she existed. He slowly shook his head. "No, Professor."

"Good," she stated crisply. "We have a lot of ground to cover in this course and I'd prefer not to be held back by a few insolent students."

Draco felt a strange mixture of umbrage and shock as the rest of the class broke out into stunned mutterings. The Weasel was gaping like a fish, but Potter's usually dull gaze was alive with calculation as he regarded her, his expression unreadable. Draco, for his part, had the unnerving sensation that he had just fallen face-first into an alternate dimension.

"Of course, this applies to the lot of you," she continued, her electric blue gaze breaking from Potter's to scan about the room. "I will not abide any rule-breaking in this class. I am an Auror, and as this is a Newt-level Defense Against the Dark Arts course and you are all of age, I intend to treat you as my Trainees. If you lack obedience or respect, I will not hesitate to oust you from this class, and you can kiss any chance you may have had at a position in the Auror Department goodbye. Is that clear?"

She looked about the room at what Draco suspected was a sea of stunned faces.

"I said, is that clear?" She repeated loudly.

"Yes, ma'am!" a majority of the class replied. Most everyone appeared as if they had been hit upside the head by a bludger. For a witch of such petite stature, her presence was appallingly intimidating.

"Good," she nodded approvingly with a tight-lipped smile. "We will begin today with an evaluation of your skills. Given your shaky education or lack thereof up until now, I expect your levels of skill to range all the way from fair to abysmal. My goal will be to bring you all up to snuff so that if you have the particular misfortune of coming across a Dark Witch or Wizard later in life, it won't be my fault if you die."

She shot them all a wolfish grin and many of the students chuckled uncomfortably. Draco supposed she had meant it to be a joke, but it merely came off as disturbing.

The Weasel leaned over to whisper something in Potter's ear, but Professor Proudfoot's sharp gaze fell upon him. "Something you want to share with the class, Weasley?"

Weasley nearly jumped out o f his skin, his ears reddening. "Er…no, Professor!"

"Then kindly keep your thoughts to yourself," she snapped.

"Yes, Professor," Weasley mumbled, looking thoroughly abashed.

"Right," she barked. Draco's brief amusement was replaced by trepidation when her gaze flicked between him and Potter. "I suggest that the two students who held us all back with their tardiness should be the first to demonstrate their skills. Potter, Malfoy, take your positions in the middle of the floor. Everyone else, make room for them. This will be a wizard's duel."

Draco instinctively glanced over at Potter, but the wizard ignored him, appearing utterly unmoved by the news as Weasley clapped him on the back. His stomach traitorously knotting with dread, Draco dropped his bag by the wall behind him and slowly stepped toward the middle of the floor as all the other students fell back to form a circle. Potter nonchalantly took a position opposite him, holding his wand loosely at his side, his expression unreadable. Draco could feel his peers' glares burning into his skin from all about the room as he gripped the shaft of his own wand and pulled it from his pocket, hoping that no one could see the minute tremor running through his hand. Despite his stubborn words to the contrary in the hallway just outside the door, he had little to no confidence that his wand was currently fit for anything more complicated than casting sparks. He fought a wave of fear, forcing his expression to remain an indifferent mask. Despite the circumstances, he would not give Potter, or the others watching for that matter, any evidence of his weakness.

"This will be a standard duel," Proudfoot informed them. "Three rounds, allowing the use of any hex, jinx, charm or protective spell you can think up, barring the Unforgiveables, of course. Show us what you are capable of. I'll end it before it gets out of hand, so don't hold back. Is that clear?"

She looked from Potter to Draco, and Potter nodded with all the confidence in the world, flicking his dark green gaze to Draco in a clear challenge. _Gryffindor_. Draco bit the inside of his cheek and forced a curt nod as well, drowning his burgeoning fear with a swell of healthy hatred for his opponent. If Potter thought he'd intimidate Draco into submission, he was dead wrong. He would show him just what this defective wand could do.

"Begin!" Proudfoot declared, and Potter began to pace sideways. Draco warily followed his lead, his wand hand already slippery with sweat.

"Get 'em, Harry!" The Weasel shouted, and a couple of others clapped and hooted their agreement, Finnigan and Smith the loudest of all, which was hardly shocking.

Professor Proudfoot sent them a remonstrative look, but she didn't say anything, and they seemed to take that as a sign that while she disapproved of their behavior, she wouldn't stop them by force. So, the cheers and jeers continued.

Potter merely kept his hard green gaze locked on Draco, not even raising his wand. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, partly resentful and partly relieved that Potter wasn't fighting him properly. It was shameful, really, but Draco knew he couldn't act until Potter did. A defensive strategy was safer, for now, if only because it gained him more time to formulate a proper plan. However, after a few minutes of he and Potter doing nothing more than pace in a circle like rival werewolves, their audience began to grow restless, including Professor Proudfoot.

"I am beginning to wonder whether either of you is aware of the definition of a wizard's duel," she criticized, crossing her arms over her chest. "You may very well be locked in a battle of wills, but you'll find it is much more exciting if you use your wands. Or have you both become squibs since the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Some of the students gasped, and Potter's eyes flickered in her direction for half a second, but he didn't raise his wand. He merely continued to pace sedately. Draco could tell by the narrowing of her eyes that this irritated Proudfoot to no end. Draco was equally unimpressed at Potter's arrogance. Apparently, Potter was so convinced of Draco's innocuousness that he refused to attack him under any circumstances. Draco felt more humiliation in that moment than ever before. How _dare_ Potter take him so lightly.

"Attack!" Proudfoot barked out authoritatively, but yet again, Potter gave no indication that he had even heard her.

Draco grew reckless, his anger far outweighing his fear. "What's the matter, Potter? Scared?"

Potter merely frowned, his steps unwavering. "I could ask the same of you."

Some of the Eighth Years 'oooohed' at that, and Draco's knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around his wand.

"Why don't you attack then?" Draco taunted, even as his mind raced for opportunities to evade such an attack.

"Why don't you?" Potter asked stubbornly.

"Don't think I won't!" Draco threatened lamely, darting his gaze about the room in search of something that might help him.

"Fine then," Potter shrugged, having the nerve to actually look bored as Draco fidgeted.

That did it. Draco was so angry, he nearly saw red. Thankfully, he knew at least one thing that his wand could cast passably. He raised his wand and shouted as forcefully as he could, "Confringo!"

He could just see Potter's eyes widen and his wand come up to block the curse before the resultant blast blew up in Draco's face, sending him back against the hard wall behind him. He ignored the pain and opened his eyes to note with some relief that his opponent hadn't fared much better. He had fallen back against the Weasel, who was now supporting him from behind. Potter shook his head and pulled off his glasses, one of the lenses cracked in two. Draco shakily got to his feet, smirking. Potter stepped out of Weasel's hold and wiped at his eyes before tapping the lens with his wand, repairing it.

Proudfoot appeared pleased. "Thank you for ending that ridiculous pacing, Malfoy, but next time, do try to avoid blasting yourself in the process."

The room filled with laughter, and Draco inwardly seethed. Potter merely stepped forward and stared at Draco expectantly, completely unruffled, which set Draco further on edge. It was as if Potter was playing with him. He wanted Draco to know that he wasn't rattled in the slightest by that first attack. Draco bit his lip, tasting blood in his mouth. He couldn't let Potter get away with that. Bugger the consequences.

"Fine, Potter." Rage fueling his magic, Draco raised his wand and shouted, "INCENDIO!" as loudly and clearly as he could.

The effect was immediate. Flames swirled out from the tip of his wand, but something was wrong. It didn't act like fire, but like water, sloshing out over the floor at an unnatural speed, reaching for its intended target. Potter's eyes were wide and bright, his wand coming up too late to stop it. The flame water broke over him like a tidal wave, surely burning him alive. Draco's world slowed down and condensed to that moment, watching the sickening flames engulf their victim and swirl up into a fiery tornado that set the ceiling ablaze.

No one could survive that.

His chest tightened until he could barely breathe. People were screaming all around him. Vaguely, he noticed Weasley's horrified expression, Granger holding him back from jumping headlong into the flames as she muttered under her breath, her wand shaking. Professor Proudfoot was shouting, her expression the picture of concentration as she flicked her wand in various directions. It was useless. Draco knew this instinctively. There was something wrong with his wand. His magic was twisted and unpredictable. Potter had warned him of this.

Draco thought he was going to be sick, and he collapsed onto his knees, gasping for breath as the intense heat licked his perspiring skin. The tornado was growing and students were escaping any way they knew how, running along the walls and kicking the door outward. None of them paid any attention to him even as they tripped over him. Draco leaned over and retched, wanting nothing more than for the flames to swallow him up, as they should have done months ago. But someone grabbed him and pulled him up violently, slamming him against the wall. Draco blearily opened his eyes to see Weasley shouting in his face. Draco coughed, no longer caring to decipher what the Weasel was saying as his gaze drifted to the heart of the fire where Potter had once stood.

Draco thought to stay like that, but then something slapped him hard across the face, snapping his neck in the opposite direction until his vision was suddenly full of Granger. His cheek stung, but he realized the lingering pressure was her hand, holding his head in place. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear her over the roar of blood in his ears or the roar of the flames surrounding them.

She seemed to notice this, because the next moment her cheek was against his, her lips moving against the shell of his ear, and he couldn't help but hear her words.

"You have to stop it, Malfoy! You're the only one who can! Pick up your wand!"

She pulled back and he merely stared at her. Didn't she know it was no use? His wand was intrinsically broken and deformed. If he tried to use it, it would only make things worse. There was nothing he could do.

"Save yourself, Granger," was all he could think to say. He wasn't even sure if she'd heard him.

She frowned. Weasley was still yelling at him incomprehensibly, holding him against the wall by the shoulder. She tore away from them both and Draco thought she might be taking his advice, but a moment later, she returned, shoving his bag against his chest. She shoved her hand in it, riffling through it before she pulled something out, a long slender package the exact size of his old…

She ripped the wrapping and removed the lid, revealing the Hawthorne and Unicorn hair within. She sent him a hard stare and he took the wand with trembling fingers.

"Do it!" Granger shouted through the roar of flames.

Draco could only nod jerkily, gripping the shaft of his old wand like a lifeline. It pulsed familiarly in his hand as if greeting a long lost friend. Without thinking, he raised it and opened his mouth, immediately choking on smoke and soot. His eyes watered, but he swallowed and tried again. Weasley let go of him and he stepped toward the fire.

He hoped with all his being this would work. He hoped that when the flames subsided there would be something to salvage. He hoped Potter was still, against all odds, the Boy Who Lived. "FINITE INCANTATEM!"

 

* * *

 

When Draco crawled back into consciousness, he was met with the familiar sight of the Hospital Wing ceiling as lamplight flickered across it. He thought perhaps by now he could recognize the imperfections in the stone, like constellations in the sky, and use their position to denote where he was lying in the room. The next thing he noticed was the uncomfortable tightness in his chest and the pounding in his head. He groaned pitifully.

"You're awake," was the soft reply.

Draco looked to his bedside and found Granger sitting there, a book in her lap and another stack of them on the bedside table. She looked quite at home.

"Clearly not," he coughed. "This is a nightmare."

"How do you feel?" She asked quietly.

Draco sent her a look, her uncharacteristic concern was unnerving, especially after he'd…

Draco shot up in bed, his breathing ragged and his heart beating staccatos in his chest. He couldn't breathe again, the fire burning in his memory. He looked down at his hands and for a hysterical moment was surprised to find them bloodless. His voice was a rasp. "I killed him."

"Draco…" A warm hand pressed into his shoulder and Draco couldn't help but stare at Granger's face, which was suddenly much closer than it had been. She was leaning over her chair, her brown eyes much too warm to be directed at the murderer of her best friend. Her mouth was moving, but he realized he hadn't heard her. "…kill him."

"What?" Draco asked automatically. His mind was still reeling from what he had done. This meant Azkaban for certain. There was no escaping it now. His guilt had caught up with him, and he had to pay for it. What would his mother think? How would his father react? Would he congratulate him for a job well done? Would they have to share a cell? He'd rather be kissed by a Dementor, which he most certainly deserved. Potter.

 _Harry_.

He realized belatedly that Granger's lips had been moving for some time. She seemed to realize he hadn't heard her, because her brows knit and her mouth closed on an exasperated frown.

" _Draco!_ " She hissed. That caught his attention. Draco merely stared at her, his eyes disconcertingly puffy, and her gaze seemed to soften. "You didn't kill him."

Draco stiffened, completely shocked. He couldn't believe her. "How…but I…"

She shook her head and turned around, pointing to the bed behind her.

Draco stared at the unconscious figure in that bed. It was turned away from him, its messy black hair sticking out against the pillow, one bare shoulder peeking out above the lip of the covers. Familiar, round-rimmed glasses sat upon the bedside cabinet, glinting in the lamplight.

"He's alive," Granger whispered, as if she too was in awe of that fact.

"How?" Draco questioned, unable to keep his voice from shaking. "I saw it hit him…no one could possibly –"

"He erected a powerful shield charm just before the lava washed over him," Granger explained. "Apparently he was able to hold it long enough, but the moment you released the spell, he lost consciousness." She glanced back at Draco. "And so did you."

Draco stared at her, nonplussed, and then he sat back against the head board of his bed, releasing a long breath. His limbs were tingling and weak, and he felt as if he'd run a mile. "I had only meant it as a jape before, but it's irrefutable now. He's immortal."

Granger let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Draco was particularly unnerved to see her smile warmly at him. "No. He's simply fortunate."

Draco stared at the figure in the bed. His sense of guilt overwhelming. "Or cursed."

Granger's eyes widened a fraction and her smile fell away. She looked him over with a strange expression, as if she'd never truly seen him before. He must have been a sorry sight. "I suppose."

Draco kept his eyes firmly on Potter's bed, uncomfortable with the sudden familiarity of their conversation. He was curious about her motives. "I suppose you're here to chastise me."

Granger let out a loud breath and shifted in her seat. She was clearly uncomfortable. "I'll admit it has crossed my mind, once or twice."

"What stops you?" Draco muttered, glancing at her.

She finally pulled her eyes away from Potter and looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You are many things, Draco Malfoy. You're obtuse, obnoxious, arrogant, stubborn, misguided, bigoted – "

Draco's countenance soured. "And here I thought we were becoming fast friends."

"You're tolerable," Granger stated dismissively and waved her hand as if brushing away a fly. "But more to the point, despite all of the horrible things you've done, you're Harry's friend now, and I saw how you looked in there. I know you didn't mean to hurt him." She paused in thought for a moment. " _Much_."

"Potter and I aren't friends," Draco denied automatically. Especially not after everything that had happened. They're relationship was the epitome of dysfunction. They couldn't go one day without conflict, and look where that had led. "We would both do well to be rid of each other."

"I don't think Harry would agree."

"He's an idiot," Draco pointed out childishly. "He doesn't know how to let things alone. Especially things that are doomed from the start. You should know that as well as anyone."

Granger smiled. "Yes, well, Harry's not renowned for his caution. I'll give you that."

"I only want him to leave me alone," Draco muttered. "Yet all he does is pester me."

Granger shook her head, her expression pitying. "You're the one who's the idiot, Malfoy."

Draco scowled at her as she began gathering her books. "I don't recall requesting your opinion."

She stood up with all the books stacked in her arms. "At least talk to him when he wakes up. You owe him an explanation and an apology."

Draco wanted to retort, but he couldn't. His words caught in his throat.

She leaned over and placed something on his bedside table with a soft click. "You should also thank him."

When she stepped away, Draco could see his old wand, its shaft shining invitingly in the lamp light. Draco couldn't help thinking that she was right. He was the idiot.

She walked away from the bed, but she turned toward him just as she reached the door. "Also, Professor Proudfoot has ordered indefinite detentions for you once a week throughout the term. She wanted to expel you from lessons, but McGonagall convinced her otherwise. So you should thank her too when you see her next."

And then she was out the door and out of sight.

Draco glared ineffectually at the door for a while before lying back against his pillows with a tired huff. He turned his gaze toward Potter who remained unconscious.

A term of detentions with Proudfoot. He supposed it could have been worse.

Potter shifted a bit in his sleep, revealing his pale profile. Draco stared, clenching his scarred palm.

 _Much worse_.


	7. You Might Think You're Cursed

"Of course, I trust you, Harry."

Draco awoke in the same position he had fallen asleep in, on his side and facing Potter's bed. Although now, the room was brighter with shafts of sunlight merrily shining in through the windows and, in contrast to his previously comatose state, Potter was fully conscious and sitting up in bed. This would have provided Draco a modicum of relief, if not for the fact that Potter was entertaining a certain red-haired visitor.

The Weaslette appeared unamused from her perch at the edge of Potter's bed. Potter, himself, appeared distant, his mouth pulled into a frown as his bare, myopic gaze locked with hers. Draco frowned but otherwise remained motionless. He would rather not draw attention to the fact that he was conscious and listening in.

The silence thickened and she sighed, her voice low. "I _do_ trust you, but I don't trust _him._ He's been nothing but a git to you, even now. Ron told me that Malfoy hasn't changed a wit, and he wasn't surprised that Malfoy snapped and nearly killed you. It was only a matter of time, he said."

"Gin," Potter sighed. "You know how stubborn Ron is about Malfoy."

"With good reason," the Weaslette insisted. "You know he's…the Malfoys and my family don't exactly have the best history."

Something seemed to cloud over her features, and Potter's expression softened a bit. His voice was barely audible in the quiet room. "I know, Gin."

She stared at him for a long moment. "I can't forgive him, Harry. My family has been through too much where he's concerned. There's what happened to Bill, and what happened to me. And Fred," she looked up, as if she could see her deceased brother up there in the cracks of the stone ceiling. "I look at his pale, pointed face and that's all I can see."

"Draco didn't have anything to with that," Potter denied steadily.

Her brows rose, lips parting most likely to retort.

"Directly," Potter amended, cutting her off. "Fenrir Greyback attacked Bill, Lucius Malfoy gave you the diary, and Fred…he died in an explosion. I was there when it happened."

"Malfoy let Greyback and the other Death Eaters into the school," the Weaslette argued. "Without that, Greyback would have never gotten to Bill in the first place. You can't deny that."

"No, I can't," Potter admitted. "But he did it ultimately to protect his family. Voldemort had threatened to kill Draco and his parents if he didn't succeed."

"That just makes him a coward then," she muttered.

"Gin," Potter shook his head. "What would you have done in that situation? If your parents had lived in the same house as Voldemort and you'd been given one path to take that might keep them safe?"

The Weaslette didn't answer for a moment, her expression conflicted. "It's not the same. His parents deserved it. They let Voldemort into their home in the first place. And you can't tell me Malfoy didn't want to be a Death Eater from the very start. He was never innocent.

"Lucius deserved a cell in Azkaban, and that's what he got," Potter stated. "But Narcissa betrayed Voldemort and saved my life in the end."

The Weaslette frowned.

"You're right that Draco wanted to be a Death Eater, initially, at school, but before the war, after Lucius had lost Voldemort's favor, the Malfoys had become prisoners in their own home." Potter continued softly. "Even then, when the moment came to prove himself to Voldemort, Malfoy couldn't kill Dumbledore. I saw him lower his wand. Snape had to do it instead."

"What about later?" she pressed. "During the war, he could have –"

"No," Potter shook his head. "Voldemort lived in the Manor and kept the Malfoys close. They lived in constant fear. Even then, after we were captured and taken to the Manor, Draco didn't confirm my identity to Bellatrix when it was obvious he knew who I was. Even after Voldemort had forced Draco to torture people in the cellars more months against his will."

"How do you know that?" she questioned.

"I saw it once, while it was happening," Potter muttered lowly, then touched his faded scar. "Through Voldemort's eyes. It was the first time I'd felt sorry for him."

Draco's breath hitched. He'd never known that, and the knowledge that Potter had seen him at his absolute worst made him feel unnervingly exposed, sickened, and ashamed. He didn't wish to hear any more, but he couldn't move away or block their words from his ears.

"Do Ron and Hermione know?" the Weaslette asked quietly.

"Yeah." Potter nodded. "I had to talk to them before I defended Draco and his mother at the Wizengamot. Ron wasn't exactly pleased, but he understood."

The Weaslette sighed, frowning. "I can't trust him."

"I know, Gin, but…the war's over now," Potter murmured. "We all have to move on with our lives."

"Like you have?" The Weaslette questioned disbelievingly. "Don't tell me you've moved on as well, because we both know that's a lie."

"I have," Potter stated.

Her frown deepened. "How's your sleep, Harry? Do you still wake up at night, clawing at your bedding, and crying out for the people you've lost?"

Potter's expression remained neutral but for his eyes, which widened slightly. "How did you – ?"

"You know how," she replied. "He shared a room with you all summer. That tall git with the flaming red hair, fancies the Cannons."

" _Ron_ ," Potter huffed, a hint of exasperation seeping into his voice. "He shouldn't have said anything."

"He's worried about you," she stated. "We've all been."

"Well, you all can leave off it," Potter replied. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," she insisted. "We know you're not, Harry. No one would be after what you've been through, and it's perfectly natural to admit it to the ones who love you most."

Potter only stared at her, his expression closing off, gaze far away again.

"I left you alone all summer," she persisted, her voice agitated. She placed a small, freckled hand upon one of his. "I knew you needed space to deal with everything, and I knew that Ron and Hermione would be there for you if you ever felt like talking about it, but you never did. You've kept it all bottled up inside, but it's obvious to all of us that something's wrong. We've all grieved for the things we've lost and dealt with the memories as best we could, but you…you haven't said a word. You've never grieved or shared your pain with us. You've been keeping yourself at a distance. Half the time I wonder if you're even here."

"I'm just having some bad dreams. I've dealt with worse," Potter murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "I don't need to grieve. I've done enough of that to last a life time. I'm fine, Gin. Really."

Her eyes searched his face for a moment, but she appeared disappointed with what she saw. She slid her hand off of his and stood up. When she looked back down at him, she was frowning, her brows knitted. "Let me know when you want to let me in again, Harry."

Potter's mouth opened, but she was gone before he could make a sound.

Potter flopped back down onto his bed with a frustrated sigh, and Draco allowed himself to blink.

A lot had been revealed in that conversation, and Draco wasn't sure how he felt about it. Potter knew more about Draco's struggles during the war than he had previously suspected or felt comfortable with. However, Potter's change in attitude toward him made a lot more sense now, and it explained Granger and Weasley's relative neutrality when the majority of their year mates still wanted Draco locked up. He was sure the only reason why he hadn't been hexed into a ball of boils was because most of the Eighth Years respected Potter, even if they may not have agreed with him.

Draco felt queerly conflicted with regards to the Weaslette. She still hated him, that much was clear, but far from being the oblivious troll he had always made her out to be in his head, it seemed as though she understood Potter a fair bit, and he could agree with her on quite a few points. The fact that Potter was still plagued by nightmares was discomfiting. He hadn't noticed it in the dorm so far, but he'd also been keeping a silencing charm on his bed curtains most nights and he was fairly certain Potter had been doing the same. From the way the Weaslette made it sound, Potter hated showing weakness, even to his friends. Draco could relate to that. It was a stereotypically Slytherin trait, which made it all the more odd for the Gryffindor golden boy to exhibit so frequently. Not that Potter was especially good at it. Potter couldn't hide his issues with the aid of an invisibility cloak. It was quite obvious that he wasn't fine, and everyone seemed to know it, no matter how often or vehemently he denied it.

Draco became restless. His right arm, trapped beneath his body as it was, had grown unpleasantly numb. He didn't fancy talking to Potter at the moment, but he couldn't very well lie there in silence as his arm lost circulation. He decided to stop fighting it and rolled onto his back. Let Potter do what he would, whether that involved shouting at him or giving him the cold shoulder. Draco couldn't deny it was the least he deserved.

Now that he was on his back, he could feel Potter's eyes on him. He casually kneaded his tingling arm, pretending he didn't notice Potter's presence. The problem, of course, was that he did, and it was all he could do not to glance back at him. Potter was staring for far too long, Draco could feel the tingle on his skin like a sixth sense. He imagined Potter was glaring or scowling, but Draco couldn't know for certain. Either way, he didn't want to face it.

"Did we wake you?"

Draco stilled and slowly ceased massaging his awakening arm, letting it drop down beside him. He found it too difficult to look Potter's way, so he didn't. "Who's we?"

"Ginny and I," Potter replied slowly. "She was just here."

"I hadn't noticed," Draco lied, still staring up at the ceiling.

The room was silent for a moment, but Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him.

"Are you all right?"

Draco hadn't expected that. It made him uncomfortable. Potter's voice sounded strained, like he was holding something back, and it only set Draco further on edge. "I should be asking you that."

"I'll live," was the terse reply.

Draco tensed. "Good."

"Draco…" Potter's gruff voice trailed off as if he couldn't think what he'd meant to say. He sounded exasperated and confused.

Draco didn't reply. In all honesty, he didn't know what to say either. Granger had told him to offer Potter an apology and thank him, but all the words were stuck in his throat. It was all complete rubbish anyway, this guilt business. He had no experience to draw from. No life lessons to instruct him on how to act properly contrite. He had grown up learning how to acquire respect even if it wasn't earned the honest way. His father had groomed him into the pinnacle of aristocracy, confident and unapologetic. How was he to know how utterly useless that advice would turn out to be? Even now, as his father rotted in a cell in Azkaban, his father would be ashamed of him. Of that he was certain, and the truth of it rankled.

Potter let out a breath and Draco could hear something click against a wooden surface, most likely the sound of Potter picking up his glasses. He didn't dare glance over to confirm it.

"I'm sorry about the wand," Potter offered softly into the silence.

Draco couldn't help looking at him then in his surprise. Potter was facing the other way, staring out the window beside his bed. Draco stared back up at the cracked ceiling, his mind racing. Potter never made any sense. "Don't be stupid."

"I shouldn't have pressured you," Potter insisted. "I knew you weren't ready, but I didn't want to listen. I thought that if I could just get you to hold it...I don't know…"

Draco could see Potter shaking his head from the corner of his eye. Draco held his tongue. He couldn't admit that Potter had been right. He should have just held the wand at least once, just to see, because when he finally had, the wand had welcomed him as its master, just as Potter had always said it would, and here Potter was, apologizing like the stupid, noble Gryffindor he was.

"I shouldn't have pushed you like that during the duel," Potter muttered. "But I was angry. You were being such a…a – "

"Git?" Draco offered, fighting a queer twitch at the corner of his lips.

Potter finally faced him then, his mouth pulled taut into a dry smile. "Yeah."

"You wouldn't be the first to think so, nor, I suspect, will you be the last," Draco admitted. "My ability to irritate others is a fine art honed through years of experience. Honestly, you never stood a chance."

"I suppose not," Potter agreed with an unreadable look.

They dropped off into an uncomfortable silence and Draco bit his lip. Potter looked down at his own hands folded over his lap.

Draco sighed, feeling like a complete berk. "I hadn't meant to…nearly burn you alive. That was poorly done."

"I know," Potter nodded, glancing at him for a short moment before staring back down at his lap, clasping and unclasping his hands. "Your wand was unstable. I knew that going in. It was stupid of me. I was literally playing with fire."

"Even so," Draco murmured, staring back up at the ceiling. "I knew the risk and I took it anyway. I lost control like I'd suspected I would, and I nearly..." He trailed off, unable to finish.

Draco glanced over. Potter was plucking at his sheets. His voice was low when he murmured, "How did you stop it?"

"Granger hasn't told you?" Draco evaded, his discomfort rising.

Potter shook his head, and caught his eye. "Ginny's the only person I've seen since waking up."

Draco bit his lip and sat up, feeling vulnerable as Potter's eyes followed him. He couldn't look at Potter for this confession. It was too ridiculous. "I used my old wand."

That was met by silence and then Draco was the one picking at his sheets, pretending casualness.

"It worked?" Was the quiet question.

"Yes." Draco nodded, still not looking Potter's way.

"That's…" A pause. "That's good. I'm glad."

Draco glanced back at him for a moment, surprised at the intensity of Potter's gaze when it met his.

"Me too, actually," Draco admitted after a moment.

They both fell into silence again. Draco was unsure where to look as Potter went back to picking at the nonexistent knots in his bedding.

"Do you still hate me, or whatever?" Potter questioned into the awkward silence. His tone was overly casual but his discomfort was carved into his entire posture as he avoided Draco's gaze in favor of staring down at his lap.

Draco sighed. Not knowing the answer. Had he ever hated Potter? Truly? It all seemed like such a farce. A cover up for something else. It was unnerving to think about, and it gave him a headache. He didn't say anything, he didn't even know what to say.

After a long moment of silence, Potter looked at him, his expression questioning. Draco kept his mouth shut. Potter pushed a hand through his messy hair again. Draco tried to convince himself that he didn't itch to follow the same path with his fingers. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

"This is going to sound mental," Potter warned suddenly. Draco bit down on a witty retort like _everything you say sounds mental, Potter_. He didn't think it would do him any favors at the moment, though. Potter was being serious. "But I've been feeling different since the end of the war."

Draco kept silent, waiting for him to continue. Potter appeared a bit surprised by what he'd just revealed. Draco could tell he was trying to work it all out in his head, even as he spoke.

"People seem to think that I'm hurting or…" Potter pushed a hand through his hair again, looking everywhere but at Draco. "Or grieving, but…that's not it. I'm fine, it's just…"

He let out a loud frustrated breath and sent Draco a look bordering on helplessness.

"You don't feel anything," Draco finished for him. He had suspected that for a long time, of course. Since he'd watched Potter after the last battle in the Great Hall. He'd felt it himself, the numbness that blanketed everything else, muting his fear and hatred, even his pleasure.

Potter eyed him and nodded. "I've tried to go back to the way I was before, the way I felt before, but…I can't. And now Ginny wants us to have another go, like we'd planned, and I want to, I want to make it work, but…I don't…"

Something unclenched in Draco's chest and he suddenly found it easier to breathe. He felt inexplicably lightheaded. It was disconcerting.

"The mental thing is," Potter murmured. "The first time I'd felt anything since the final battle…was with you."

Draco's breath caught and something in his stomach swooped as if he'd just come out of a dive on his broomstick. He stared at Potter, attempting to look unaffected or even amused by the confession. He thought there was probably a good jape he could make at this moment, but all his wits eluded him. He had the strange notion that if he opened his mouth, he'd say something mental in return. So he clamped it shut.

"You made me _so_ angry," Potter continued, and suddenly Draco's queer giddiness abated, his stomach dropping like a stone.

"Oh," Draco uttered stupidly, and hastened to say something else. "Well…yes."

That certainly helped. Draco wanted to hex himself.

Potter sent him a fond half smile. "It was a good feeling."

"Masochist," Draco accused, trying to regain his bearings.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew what it was like," Potter insisted and his eyes appeared a bit haunted for a moment. "Feeling nothing can be…overwhelming. Getting angry to that extent, it made me feel..."

"Alive," Draco murmured.

Potter nodded. "Yeah."

They fell back into silence.

"So…?" Potter questioned awkwardly.

Draco sighed. He supposed there was nothing for it. "Well, far be it from me to deprive you of a bad mood. Honestly, that's been a goal of mine since first year."

"You'll stop ignoring me, then?" Potter questioned.

Draco pretended to think on it. "I don't know."

"Prat," Potter accused, shaking his head, but he was smiling.

"I honestly don't know if I can take this constant emotional abuse," Draco opined, his expression deadpan. "What will I get out of this arrangement?"

"The honor of speaking to me," Potter replied with mock gravity.

"Doesn't sound promising," Draco drawled.

"The pleasure of driving me absolutely mad with rage?" Potter offered.

"Hm," Draco smirked, Potter seemed to know him all too well. "That certainly is tempting."

"Brilliant," Potter grinned.

"I haven't even agreed," Draco retorted.

"Draco…" Potter whinged playfully, and his expression was so ridiculous that Draco couldn't help but cave, or that was what he told himself.

"Fine, but we're not friends," Draco clarified. "I don't consort with former Gryffindors."

Potter shook his head. "Whatever you say, Draco."

Draco sent Potter an odd look. "You've been using my given name."

"Erm…" Potter suddenly looked a bit surprised as if he hadn't even noticed. "Yeah, I suppose I have."

"Hm," Draco muttered vaguely, feeling a bit uncomfortable. His name sounded natural rolling off of Potter's tongue, and that was odd. It shouldn't sound natural at all. They'd never called each other by their given names before. It just wasn't done. It made him feel strange and defensive. "Don't expect me to call you Harry."

"You just did," Potter pointed out.

"Well, don't expect me to do it again," Draco retorted lamely. "Your name is Potter and I have no use for the other."

"Right," Potter backed down, appearing amused. "As long as you don't call me the Savior of the Wizarding World."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco informed him. "Your head's already full of hot air, if I add any more to it, you'll float away."

"Thanks for your concern," Potter muttered dryly.

"I wasn't doing it for your benefit," Draco denied. "Your adoring fans would hex me if you went missing, and while I could protect myself –"

"That is certainly debatable, Mr. Malfoy."

Madame Pomfrey ignored Draco's answering scowl as she bustled toward them, levitating two trays of food. She dropped them at the foot of their beds. "If this keeps up, you might have to take up residence in the hospital wing, Mr. Malfoy. I daresay Mr. Potter has rubbed off on you."

"What can I say?" Draco drawled humorlessly. "He's like a parasite."

Potter frowned, but Pomfrey sent Draco an amused look as she passed her wand over him.

She seemed satisfied with the results and moved on to Potter. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," she greeted, as she waved her wand about. "Not dead yet, I see. Although you certainly are trying. No one can fault you for sheer effort."

"Erm…thanks, I think," Potter muttered dumbly. He looked about the room as she levitated his tray of breakfast onto his lap. "What's the time?"

She did the same for Draco before replying. "It's just past nine o'clock. Luckily, neither of you should miss your lessons today. It's a wonder you two are learning anything at all at the rate you're going."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he dug into his kippers and mash all the same. It was lukewarm at best, but he supposed he couldn't complain. She'd hex him and then he'd be trapped in the Hospital Wing forever. He bet she'd like that. She'd grown fond of having him around, he could tell.

She appeared satisfied as she watched them eat. "I see you have both recovered as well as could be expected. You may leave when you are done. Although, Mr. Malfoy, I am told the Headmistress would like a word with you before your lessons. So you'd best hurry."

Draco nodded and involuntarily shared a wary look with Potter. Potter looked concerned, although he was clearly trying to hide it as he stuffed more potato into his mouth, doing a fair impression of Weasley. Pomfrey went back into her private rooms and Draco looked back down at his half-eaten plate, suddenly not hungry.

When they were finished, they both got dressed in the robes Pomfrey had left stacked on a chair by the window for them. The last item Draco picked up was his wand, its wood unnaturally warm against his palm, inviting. Potter glanced at him, but didn't say anything, and Draco pocketed it.

"I'll see you later, then," Potter commented, glancing back at him with an expectant look as they headed toward the door.

"Probably," Draco offered, filled with an unusual sense of dread in the face of his visit with the Headmistress.

"It'll be fine," Potter assured with a slight smile, and then they were separating in the hall.

Most students were still at breakfast, so the halls were empty. Draco traversed them as quickly as possible. Even with his old wand back, he had to admit his confidence hadn't fully returned yet. He might have to hex a few people before that happened, he smirked. That is, if he wasn't expelled first, of course.

He stopped in front of the stone gargoyle, his stomach in his throat, and realized he had never learned the password. Thankfully, that didn't seem to matter, as the gargoyle came to life before him.

"She's been waiting for you, boy," the gargoyle rumbled, and Draco could swear the thing was actually glaring at him. "Best not keep her."

The gargoyle rotated out of the way, revealing the spiral staircase beyond. Draco stepped onto it and it carried him upward. His palms were sweating by the time it stopped and he hastily wiped them on his robes. McGonagall was sitting at her desk when he entered, but she kept her eyes down on a piece of parchment she was reading. Every other eye in the room was on him, including blue ones that twinkled from the wizened portrait that hung just behind McGonagall's chair. Draco took special care not to look at that one.

"Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall murmured, her eyes still on her parchment. She absently pointed her wand and conjured a stiff wooden chair opposite her.

Draco obeyed, trying to ignore the attention he was getting. Most of the portraits were frowning down at him suspiciously, and some were whispering to each other behind their hands, which only added to the forbidding atmosphere. He sat there, attempting not to fidget in the awkward silence, until she finally seemed to finish her reading and deigned to look up at him. She sat up straight in her chair and regarded him sternly. Draco forced himself to hold her unyielding gaze. He supposed it could make him appear less suspicious, although the notion seemed futile.

"Care to explain yesterday's events, Mr. Malfoy?" She finally asked crisply, folding her long fingered hands on the shining wood in front of her.

 _Not especially_ , he thought, but he didn't voice that, of course. Instead, he asked, "Where would you like me to start?"

"The beginning is preferable," she replied with a raised brow. "What led you to believe that using a demonstrably unstable wand was a good idea?"

"I had no other option," Draco lied defensively.

"I have been told otherwise," McGonagall disagreed, her lips pursed so tightly that they almost disappeared. "You acquired your original wand, had you not? Before the start of term?"

Draco nodded slowly, realizing he had no choice but to concede the point. He clenched his hands into fists beneath the desk.

"Why then, had you not replaced your new wand with the original the moment you'd realized your current wand was faulty?"

Draco merely stared at her, the words caught in his throat. He couldn't tell her the truth. It would make him look ridiculous.

She stared at him, her eyes searching his face, before she unfolded her hands and sat back in her chair. "You knowingly placed yourself and your fellow students in very grave danger, Mr. Malfoy. That alone is grounds to be expelled."

Draco tensed. Had Granger lied to him? Had she merely been setting him up for humiliation?

McGonagall seemed to sense his panic, however, and her tone became softer. "I have already concluded, however, given the circumstances and the lack of lasting harm, that expelling you from Hogwarts would not be the appropriate course of action."

Draco let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, and she tapped the desk with her fingers.

"Professor Proudfoot has also kindly agreed to let you remain in her class in exchange for a detention once a week for the rest of term," McGonagall continued. "You will have to arrange the specifics with her."

Draco nodded shakily. It was just as Granger had said. It was an odd sensation to feel grateful toward her, after years of shared ugliness, but his first thought was to thank her the next time they spoke. Of course, if he had trusted her from the start, it would have saved him the worry.

"However, if you ever use that particular wand again, you will be expelled from this school," McGonagall stated stonily. "Is that quite clear, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Professor," Draco muttered meekly.

"You have a replacement wand, I am assuming?"

"My original." Draco nodded.

"Good," she commended curtly. "I assume you have lessons to attend."

"Yes," Draco agreed, and he stood, taking that as his cue to leave before she decided expelling him was the better option after all.

When he stepped back into the hallway, it was packed with students making their way to their lessons. Draco had to concentrate to remember where he should be. He recalled it a moment later, and set off for the Charms classroom.

Everyone gave him a wide berth in class, which was fine with him. He supposed the news of the debacle in DADA had spread throughout the school and his reputation had only grown worse. At least now people seemed to leave him alone, especially his year mates. Although he could do without all the glares and whispering. He worked throughout the lesson by himself, charming a cabinet to talk. Potter, who was sitting between Granger and Weasel at the front, occasionally glanced back at him, but that was the extent of their interaction. Draco felt like being alone, and at least Potter seemed to sense that and allow him his space.

It was the same in Magical Creatures. Draco barely participated as Longbottom fed their Mackled Malaclaw. Potter and Granger each nodded to him once, but that was it. The Weasel ignored him completely. Overall, the day was quite peaceful, given how it had started.

Next was History of Magic where he and most of the class took a nap, with the exception of Granger. When Binns floated back through the wall, Draco stood up from his desk, bleary-eyed, as the other students stumbled out the door. Potter hung back, however, speaking with Granger and a suspicious looking Weasley for a moment, before they left without him, Granger practically dragging Weasley away by the arm. Potter glanced back at Draco and waited for him at the door.

"I've never understood naps," Draco commented once he reached Potter, his steps sluggish. "They always leave me feeling more tired, not less."

Potter shrugged and followed him into the hall. "Too bad they're impossible to avoid. Binns could put a troll to sleep."

"Death seems to do that," Draco observed as he walked beside Potter through the hall, weaving through shorter students that either gaped or cowered in their path. "Makes people boring."

"I'm not boring," Potter stated. "If anything, people seem to find me more interesting."

Draco sent him an odd look. He would never get used to Potter's casual remarks about his own death. It was disturbing.

"Yes, well, you couldn't just stay dead like a normal wizard, could you? You just had to come straight back to life," Draco drawled. "Too bad I know the truth. You're just as boring as you were before you'd died."

"Prat," Potter muttered, but his lips were twitching. "I was never boring."

"Really?" Draco arched an incredulous brow. "I happen to find you exceedingly dull. Always have."

"I'm sure," Potter commented with a grin. "Well, I've always thought you were an exceedingly huge prat. So I suppose nothing's changed."

"Why, thank you, Potter," Draco smirked. "I do try."

"That wasn't a compliment," Potter informed him.

Draco chose to ignore him. The halls had grown darker as they walked, and now the torches burned brightly in their sconces. It finally began to rain, as it had been threatening to do since noon, and the sound of it beating against the windows echoed through the hallways. Most students were making their way to the Great Hall for dinner, and by the time Draco and Potter reached the entrance hall, a familiar group of Gryffindors were just making their way down the stairs. Draco did his best not to scowl, but it was a near thing.

"Coming to dinner, Harry?" the Weaslette asked, wrapping one arm around his back and kissing him on the cheek. She seemed to have completely recovered from that morning. Her friends were watching on with a disgusting level of envy and awe.

"Erm…" Potter uttered uncomfortably, glancing at Draco.

"Don't mind me, Potter," Draco drawled, pretending the Weaslette wasn't currently hanging off of Potter's arm and giving Draco the stink-eye. "I plan to pay Nibby a visit."

Potter gave him a long, searching look. Draco willed him to see that he preferred to be left alone. Potter seemed to notice this, because he acquiesced. "Okay, I'll see you later then."

Draco nodded curtly, turning away as fast as he could from the accusing glares of the Weaslette's posse. He thought he could feel Potter watching him as he exited the entrance hall, but when he finally caved and looked back, Potter and the Weaslette were gone. Suddenly, Draco felt drained, and he craved a shower more than food. He changed course from the kitchens to the dormitories.

Unfortunately, Draco bumped into Finnigan just as the former Gryffindor was exiting the Eighth Year common room with Thomas in tow.

"That was some trick, Malfoy," Finnigan spat when his eyes locked on him.

"What was?" Draco sneered, wrapping his hand around the wand in his pocket.

"The bit where you didn't get yourself expelled for attempted murder," Finnigan replied. He stepped up close to Draco so that they were practically breathing the same air. Draco could feel a wall against his back, but he refused to back down. He merely schooled his expression into a cold glare. "How did you do it, Malfoy? Did you threaten McGonagall?"

Draco actually laughed. The accusation was preposterous. There was no possible way he could intimidate that woman. Not even the Dark Lord had cowed her.

"What's so funny?" Finnigan barked.

"Nothing. I'm simply shocked how very little you seem to know your old Head of House," Draco replied. "The day I intimidate her is the day the Dark Lord comes back from the dead."

"I know you have your ways," Finnigan accused. "Death Eaters always have a few tricks up their sleeve, aren't afraid to dabble in the Dark Arts."

The idiot was completely deranged. Draco attempted to reign in a scowl. "Then do be careful not to sleep too deeply in the dorm tonight. It would be unfortunate if you fell victim to one of my Death Eater tricks."

Finnigan pulled out his wand and Draco felt the tip digging painfully into his throat.

"Seamus," Thomas spoke cautiously, and put a hand on Finnigan's shoulder. "Don't."

Draco clenched his jaw, glaring up at Finnigan and doing his best to ignore the danger he was in. He pulled his own wand out and pushed the tip against Finnigan's stomach. "I wouldn't do that."

"I'll hex you before you can even speak," Finnigan spat.

"Seamus, stop it," Thomas broke in gruffly. "This is stupid."

"Shut it, Dean," Finnigan retorted. "It's time someone punished Malfoy for everything he's done."

Thomas frowned and pulled out his wand, pointing it at Finnigan. Finnigan turned his head and stared at him with an expression of utter betrayal. "Dean…you – !"

"I'm doing this for your own good," Thomas stated stubbornly. "You don't want to get expelled, do you? Lower your wand."

Finnigan bristled.

"He isn't worth it," Thomas insisted.

Finnigan released a quick breath and glared at Draco. "Fine."

He stepped back and pocketed his wand. Draco gingerly rubbed at his throat, his own wand still pointed at Finnigan. Thomas glanced at Draco only once before following Finnigan out of the portal. Draco could just hear their conversation echoing back into the room.

"I hate that overgrown ferret."

"I know."

"I bet that's his Animagus form…a tiny, ugly ferret."

Thomas laughed.

Then the portal shut.

It was an hour later when Potter reentered the Eighth Year tower alone and found Draco staring at the notice board.

"Hey, Draco," Potter greeted, and stepped up beside him. "Something wrong?"

Draco stared at the empty spot on the board miserably. "I didn't sign it."

"Sign what?" Potter questioned, staring back and forth between the empty board and Draco.

"The sign in parchment McGonagall had posted two nights ago for the Animagus lessons," Draco replied wretchedly. "I'd completely forgotten."

"Oh, that," Potter smiled, having the gall to look relieved.

Draco glared at him. "I wasn't aware my failures were so amusing."

"No, no." Potter shook his head, still smiling. "It's not that. It's just…I was in the common room that night just before midnight and I saw that you hadn't signed it yet. So…"

"So?" Draco questioned irritably as Potter just trailed off.

" _So_ …" Potter continued awkwardly, rubbing a hand through his mess of hair. "I signed it for you."

"You…what?" Draco whispered, shocked.

"I forged your signature," Potter smiled, a devious glint in his eyes. He took out his wand and twirled it in his fingers. "It was simple, really. Hermione taught me the spell ages ago. It comes in handy when signing tonnes of autographs."

"But...how did you know I'd meant to sign up?" Draco questioned, nonplussed.

Potter frowned, his brows knitting. "Sorry...it hadn't even occurred to me that you wouldn't."

Draco stared at him and something shifted, like a veil lifting from his eyes. Potter knew him well, better than he'd thought, in fact. And he'd done that for him without thought. He was...his eyes were so green as well, an impossible emerald green, and in a certain light, his messy hair could be mistaken for sleep-tousled. Even his thick-rimmed glasses weren't entirely off-putting. Neither was that faded scar on his forehead. All of the traits Draco had been convinced he'd hated made something peculiar swoop inside his stomach now.

It all became clear. All of his recent symptoms and all of his terrible moods now made perfect sense.

And it filled him with a terrible, unspeakable dread.

 _Fuck_.

Potter shifted from one foot to the other. "Sorry, should I not have - ?"

 _Fuckity fuck_.

Draco shook his head vaguely, attempting to clear his mind of panic. "No, thank you, Potter. That was…good of you."

"It was nothing," Potter replied, although his gaze searched him questioningly.

Draco looked away, self-conscious, which was ridiculous. "I should go to bed. It's been a long day."

"Oh, right," Potter muttered bemusedly. "I suppose it has."

"Right," Draco uttered stupidly, stepping backward and nearly tripping on a chair behind him. Potter frowned, and opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight," Potter offered, his expression strange.

Draco turned around and quickly made his way up the stairs to the empty dorm. The moment the door closed behind him, he performed a tempus charm and realized it was only eight o'clock. Small wonder Potter probably thought he'd gone barking. Draco sighed and fell back into his four poster, staring up at the ceiling.

He was completely buggered, or at least he wanted to be, apparently, and that was the problem.

Dazed, he rolled onto his side and closed the bed curtains with a flick of his wand.

Why did this have to happen? Why did it have to be Potter? Things between them had grown awkward enough without adding an unrequited attraction to the list. There was no way Potter could reciprocate, of course. Draco was certainly attractive in an objective sense, that went without saying, but Potter clearly preferred the fairer sex.

Draco fisted his bed sheets. He would just have to ignore his unwanted feelings and hope they went away. If he frequently told himself that it was futile, the inconvenient feelings would certainly abate. Honestly, why was he so worried? All he had to do was live in denial, which Pansy had always insisted he was an expert at. No, it would be fine. This was nothing, just a shallow infatuation he could easily ignore.

Draco closed his eyes, waiting for sleep, but as he slipped away, his mind was caught by one last memory, the feel of Potter and the broom they shared as they escaped the fire together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and your comments keep me going!


	8. But what's so much worse

Draco woke up early, vague memories of a pleasant dream slipping away like sand through his fingers. The room was still dark and rain pattered against the windows. He wasn't used to the sound, having lived down in the dungeons for most of his school career. It was pleasant, but he missed the muffled silence of the deep lake water pressing against the windows, with the occasional thump of an underwater creature that had lost its way and collided with the warded glass. Draco stared up into the darkness where the ceiling should be, listening to the rain for a moment. He wondered if it was worth it to try to go back to sleep. He dug around for his wand beneath his pillow, and cast a tempus on his wrist. The floating gold numerals lit up the small space within the bed curtains of his four-poster and read _0600_. Draco sighed and decided to get up.

He stumbled around in the dark, just managing to change his clothes in silence, and made his way out of the dormitory with his bag of school things. Maybe he'd try getting to work on some of the essays he'd been assigned.

However, as he neared the bottom of the stairs, he noticed the common room was glowing in fire light. He hadn't thought anyone else was up and about. At least it had seemed as though his dorm mates were still abed, but of course, it had been too dark for him to truly tell, and it could be one of the girls. Cautiously, Draco made his way down the stairs and peered out at the middle of the room. He saw Potter sitting on the couch before the fire, staring into it blankly. Draco stiffened, wondering if he should just go back to bed, but just as he stepped back, the wood creaked under his foot and Potter's gaze snapped to him.

Potter shifted in his seat. "Hey."

"Potter," Draco muttered in reluctant greeting.

Potter replied with a vague smile and ran a hand through his hair. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What time is it?"

"Six o'clock," Draco replied, and stepped into the room. "How long have you been awake? You look…" _ravishable_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully. "Like shit."

"Thanks," Potter stated dryly. "I haven't been up long. Wasn't tired. What about you?"

"Same," Draco replied, recognizing Potter's lie, but reluctant to point it out. He took a seat in one of the chairs next to the couch. If he looked at Potter he was afraid he'd think or, worse yet, say something stupid, so he resolutely stared into the fire. Unfortunately, he could still feel Potter nearness like a magical charge skipping across his skin. He did his best to ignore it.

Potter shifted on the couch but otherwise remained silent, apparently keen to stare into the fire once again. So Draco took out his charms text book, a quill, and parchment. Maybe doing some work would distract him from the awkwardness. He was all but certain Potter was oblivious to it, but it had effectively set Draco on edge.

Suddenly, he could feel Potter watching him. "You know, I'd always thought you'd bought your good marks, but I'm beginning to think otherwise. You're worse than Hermione."

Draco glared at him. "You'd thought I'd paid teachers off?"

"Well," Potter back peddled, appearing uncomfortable. "Technically, I'd thought your father had paid them off."

"Oh, that's _much_ better," Draco drawled sarcastically. In that moment he found it a lot easier to deny any attraction to the four-eyed tosser. "I suppose I was just some untalented twit to you, was I?"

Potter actually had the gall to laugh. "Well, yeah."

Draco scowled. "Even in Potions?"

"Snape favored the Slytherins," Potter shrugged. "I'd always thought he helped you, and made it hard for the rest of us. Especially me."

"That's because you couldn't tell a shrivelfig from a bezoar," Draco informed him. "If I'd been as bad as you, I promise you, Snape wouldn't have liked me any better."

"I doubt that," Potter stated enigmatically. "Snape had a lot of reasons to hate me."

"That isn't surprising," Draco muttered. "So do I."

Potter had the grace to stop smiling.

"Draco…" Potter sighed. "You were a twit back then."

Draco raised one eyebrow.

"You were," Potter insisted, his green eyes shining a bit in the shaft of dull dawn light from the window. "We both did some pretty stupid things, and thought the worst of each other, but you instigated most of it."

Draco stared at him blankly.

Potter sent him an incredulous look.

Draco sighed. "Well, alright. Yes, you win this round, Potter, but I maintain you were still a total arsekettle."

Potter rolled his eyes, and sat back on the couch to stare at the ceiling. "Prat."

"Intelligent prat," Draco corrected. "Those good marks were well deserved."

"Yeah, I can see that now," Potter muttered. "I said you were worse than Hermione, didn't I?"

Draco's eyes caught on the line of skin visible between Potter's shirt and trousers as he stretched back on the couch, and he stared.

"What?" Potter frowned and sat forward, hiding the skin once again.

Draco shook his head, feeling the heat in his cheeks and facing away toward the fire. This was ridiculous. "If I was worse than Granger, I'd have better marks than her."

"That's something I never thought I'd hear," Potter stated slowly.

"And you never will again," Draco informed him. "That was a one-time admission. Take it with you to the grave."

Potter chuckled. "Okay, I will. I suppose Hermione isn't to hear of this."

"Of course not," Draco replied. "If you tell her, you'll wake up one morning with an unfortunate formation of boils on your arse."

"Alright, alright," Potter acquiesced, appearing mildly horrified. Although, Draco could tell he was smiling in that perceptive way of his. It made Draco want to deny everything outright.

Draco glanced back at Potter then. "So I suppose you've gotten through Hogwarts on Granger's good graces."

Potter opened his mouth as if to object, then closed it, appearing thoughtful. "Mostly, yeah."

Draco smirked. "The truth comes out at last."

"Smirk all you want, Malfoy," Potter retorted easily. "But I was busy fighting Dark Lords, and escaping plots on my life. I didn't exactly have a lot of time for lessons. Hermione helped a lot, and I'm definitely grateful. Although, Defense Against the Dark Arts was all me. It's the one thing I've always been good at, other than flying, of course."

"Well, you did have a lot of practice," Draco admitted. "You could say I helped you in that regard. Kept you on your toes."

Potter laughed. "So I suppose I should thank you for giving me such a hard time?"

"That would be appropriate," Draco smirked. "Face it, Potter. You would have been nothing without me and my devious plans."

"Yes," Potter stated dryly. "I can see now how you, Crabbe, and Goyle dressing up as a Dementor was just the preparation I needed to survive the real thing."

"I accept your gratitude," Draco replied airily.

Potter shook his head and smiled. He leaned back on the couch again, looking into the fire. "We've changed a lot, haven't we?"

Draco stared at him, Potter appeared contemplative. Draco looked into the fire as well. "I doubt it."

He could feel Potter's eyes on him.

Draco glanced back at him again. "It's the circumstances that have changed the most."

Potter stared at him for a moment. "I suppose you're right. I do feel older though."

"So do I," Draco murmured. _A bit too old_.

Potter went back to staring at the fire, and Draco distracted himself with his work. The rain beat against the windows as the sun rose above the clouds, brightening everything. They sat like that until eight o'clock, when the first of their House mates stumbled into the common room. Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbott all greeted Potter warmly on their way out. Unsurprisingly, they ignored Draco entirely. He supposed they were still sore about him nearly burning them alive. It was much the same story when Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner emerged from the staircase. They traded greetings with Potter amidst a spirited row about preferred draft picks in the Quidditch League, and Draco ignored them in kind until they were out the portal.

"Do you want to get breakfast in the Great Hall?" Potter questioned when the room was silent again.

Draco looked up from his book and glanced at Potter. He would rather not expose himself to the entire student body at the moment, and he was just about to tell Potter so, but Granger cut him off.

"We all should go." She emerged from the girl's staircase, clutching a large tome and her bag. "McGonagall's supposed to let us know if we've been accepted into the Animagus lessons today."

"How do you know that?" Weasley questioned, stumbling into the room from the boy's staircase at an uncannily opportune moment, Longbottom stepping out behind him.

"Because I can read, Ron," Granger replied exasperatedly. "It was written on the sign-up parchment."

"The writing was too small," Weasley mumbled defensively.

Granger pursed her lips, before switching her attention to Potter and Draco. "Are you two coming?"

Potter nodded and got up. Feeling trapped, Draco sighed and followed suit, packing his work back into his bag.

"I'm not going anywhere with him," Weasley warned, glaring at Draco.

Draco saw Potter send Weasley a quelling look, but Weasley ignored it. Granger appeared particularly fed up, her eyes narrowed at her boyfriend.

"No one's forcing you, Weasley," Draco drawled. "By all means, leave without me. I'll make sure to sit as far away from you as possible. It's the least I could do."

"Like you wouldn't enjoy that." Weasley scowled as Longbottom hovered behind him.

"We'll go on ahead then," Granger proclaimed exasperatedly. She took Weasley by the arm and manhandled him toward the portal. She waved back at them both with her free hand. "See you both in the Great Hall."

"See you, then," Longbottom repeated, politely nodding to Potter and Draco before following Granger and Weasley out.

"Say hello to Hannah for me," Potter called out, and Draco was just able to catch Longbottom's ears reddening before he was out of sight.

Potter stretched and ran a hand through his hair, before sending Draco a half-smile. "Let me just get my things."

"Alright," Draco agreed. Anything to delay the inevitable.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of minutes before Potter was back down with his book bag. They made their way out of the tower side-by-side, where they were instantly submerged in a stream of students making their way to breakfast. It was loud in the halls, conversations and laughter echoing across the stone as groups of students bustled past each other. Draco ignored the inevitable sidelong glares and whispers directed at him. Most of the students, especially the younger ones, would simply stare at Potter in undisguised awe once they realized who he was. Draco hadn't been beside Potter in the halls that often since the term started, and he had to admit, the attention was bordering on overwhelming. Potter gamely ignored it, although he nodded politely to those who greeted him. Draco doubted Potter actually knew any of them. Some of them, including a particularly miniscule girl with mousy-brown hair, looked as though they might faint at any moment.

"I'll never get used to that," Potter muttered once they passed a particularly large group of short people.

"I don't know," Draco drawled. "I wouldn't mind having the power to make or ruin someone's day with a look."

"Of course you wouldn't," Potter agreed with a half-smile. "You've always craved attention."

"I won't deny it," Draco replied easily. "But it's only the right kind of attention I want. The glares and whispers, I could do without."

Potter glanced at him, but he didn't say anything.

When they entered the Great Hall, it was more than half full, and they made their way to the Eighth Year table as quickly as possible. Much to Draco's disappointment and the Weasel's, Potter made a direct bee-line for an open spot across from Granger. Draco was forced to sit on Potter's other side, so that he could avoid staring at the gruesomeness that was Weasley eating. Predictably, Weasley glowered at him, but Draco ignored this, busying himself by populating his plate. Longbottom sat just across from him, beside Hannah Abbott. He sent Draco a small nod, and Draco returned a stiff one of his own. He'd never suspected he'd feel any sort of affinity for Longbottom, of all people, but after being forced to partner with him in a number of lessons, he found he rather liked the wizard's proclivity for nonjudgmental silence.

The Great Hall filled with bodies and noise as they ate. Projected rain fell from the stormy rafters, interspersed with the occasional flash of lightning. The subsequent roll of thunder was pleasant, but Draco noticed it set a fair few of the First Years on edge. He smirked. They were entirely too small, really. He couldn't imagine he had ever been quite so miniscule. They were lucky. They wouldn't have lasted one second at Hogwarts during the war.

Granger had buried herself in her largest tome, and the Weasel took to inhaling his food as he was wont to do. Potter shoveled large portions of food onto his plate, probably because Granger was glancing up at him with concern every few minutes, but he only ate small portions as his eyes took on that far away look again. Draco glanced at Granger to find her already gazing at him in shared concern. Draco hastily looked away, but he suspected she'd noticed his unease with Potter's behavior as well.

This was inevitably followed by a visit from the Weaslette. She leaned over Potter's other shoulder where Draco could easily ignore her words, but it couldn't stop him from watching her from the corner of his eye. She spoke with Potter and shared a few words with her brother, rubbing Potter's neck with her fingers before running them familiarly through his hair. Potter smiled at her when she kissed his cheek. By the time she finally returned back to her seat at the Gryffindor table, Draco was struggling to quash his jealousy, pretending nonchalance, but he could feel Granger's eyes on him and it made him wary. She was entirely too observant for her own good. Although he was usually a master at hiding his emotions, he would have to be careful around her. There was no telling what she'd do if she knew the truth. She'd probably hex him in a very unfortunate place.

The last to arrive at the table were Thomas, Smith, and Finnigan, who wasted no time in asking in a slightly panicked voice, "Have you lot gotten McGonagall's notices yet?"

Most at the table shook their heads in the negative, and Finnigan visibly relaxed into his seat.

"Has everyone signed up for the Animagus course?" the Gryffindor Patil questioned.

Everyone seated around her looked at each other, nodding.

"Who wouldn't sign up?" Boot asked, as he meticulously buttered his toast. "It's a once in a life time opportunity."

"I didn't," Megan Jones, a former Hufflepuff, replied softly.

The other girls gasped, and Su Li placed a hand on Jones's arm as if the girl had just admitted she was terminally ill with Dragon pox. "Why not?"

Jones shrugged, appearing a bit flustered by all the attention. "I'm very busy this term with make-up courses. I wouldn't be able to handle the workload. And even the Headmistress said most of us wouldn't become successful Animagi anyway."

"She has a point," Susan Bones admitted. "There have only been seven registered Animagi in recorded history."

"And four unregistered," Weasley muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Potter, Granger, Longbottom, and Draco to hear. Weasley, Potter, and Granger shared a significant look. Longbottom gazed between them in bemusement, but Draco thought he knew exactly what Weasley was referring to, at least in part. Sirius Black, Wormtail, and Rita Skeeter. He couldn't guess at the fourth though.

"But at least we'll be taught by an Animagus herself," Finch-Fletchley pointed out. "That should help our chances."

"That is, if she accepts us in the first place," Anthony Goldstein stated forebodingly.

The moment he said that, owls swooped into the hall and dropped envelopes onto their plates. Draco pulled his off of his toast, a mess of jam sticking to the back, but his heart was beating fast in his chest. The Hogwarts Seal was gazing up at him. There was a hushed silence across the table and then they were all ripping the envelopes open. Draco pulled the letter out with shaking fingers and Longbottom nearly dropped his back into his pudding. Draco took in the familiar script.

 _Mr. Malfoy_ ,

_Congratulations. You have been accepted into the Animagus Transfiguration course. As such, you will no longer be enrolled in NEWT level Transfiguration lessons. The first lesson is tonight at seven o'clock sharp. We will meet in the Seventh floor corridor in front of the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy teaching trolls ballet. Come prepared._

_-Office of the Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall_

"Did you get in?" Potter questioned, leaning into him.

Draco could feel his cheeks heat unexpectedly, but he managed not to stutter, thank Merlin. Potter tended to lean into his personal space with little thought to propriety. "Of course I did. You?"

"Yeah," Potter replied with a grin.

"Shocking," Draco commented dryly.

"That was rather nerve-wracking though, wasn't it?" Granger asked, appearing immensely relieved.

"Don't tell me you were worried?" Weasley questioned exasperatedly.

"Well, what if I was?" she replied stubbornly.

Weasley just shook his head. "The day you get rejected for something school-related is the day I turn into a marshmallow."

"That can be arranged," Draco muttered evilly. He was sure there was a hex to do just that.

"Stuff it, Malfoy," Weasley growled.

Draco opened his mouth, but Potter cut in. "Did you make it in, Ron?"

"Yeah," Weasley replied belatedly, still glaring at Draco before ripping his attention away. He glanced down the table. "What about you, Neville?"

Longbottom appeared pink in the face, but he was smiling. "I'm in too."

"Were we all accepted?" Weasley questioned suspiciously, staring down the table.

Draco couldn't see anyone who looked particularly upset. Everyone appeared within a range of pleased to shocked as they clutched their letters and chatted amongst themselves.

"I reckon everyone's in who applied," Potter observed.

Draco felt uncharitably disappointed as he locked gazes with Finnigan, whose pleased smile immediately turned into a frown of contempt. Draco glared back. He hadn't even realized it until this moment, but he'd been unconsciously hoping Finnigan would be rejected. The knowledge that they'd be in every course together this term was depressing, and he'd wanted to have something to lord over the paranoid git. Of course, that would be too fortunate. The least he could hope for now was for Finnigan to fail miserably in the course.

"And it looks like lessons will be in the Room of Requirement," Weasley stated, looking back down at his parchment. "I reckon we'll need the room to change on a regular basis."

Draco looked down at his letter as well. The location did fit. Actually, he was surprised the room had survived the fire. He didn't know how he felt about entering it again.

"It would make sense," Potter agreed. "We'll probably need different accommodations once we transform."

" _If_ we transform," Granger corrected. "There's a very good chance most of us will never get to that point."

"Harry will," Weasley insisted. "It's in his blood."

"What do you mean?" Draco heard himself ask.

The Weasel glared at him, before sharing a look with Granger. She glanced at Potter, who nodded.

Draco frowned, hating being out of the loop. "Well?"

"Harry's father was an Animagus," Granger informed him. "A stag like Harry's Patronus."

Draco turned his attention to Potter, one eyebrow raised. "And I suppose your father was unregistered?"

"Yeah," Potter replied. "It's a long story."

"I can imagine," Draco stated dryly. "I don't suppose this had anything to do with your Godfather."

Potter just smiled enigmatically.

Draco sighed. Just when he thought he'd known everything there was to know about Potter. He glanced at Longbottom suspiciously. "Do you have any family secrets you'd like to disclose? Is your grandmother an Animagus too?"

"Nope," Longbottom smiled humbly. "She just likes to wear dead animals on her hats."

Draco stared at him. "That explains a lot."

The rest of the day passed in a slow crawl. Draco could barely pay attention in lessons as his anticipation for that night's lesson grew. When it was finally time to meet in the seventh floor corridor, the Eighth Years left the tower together in a group, their shared excitement palpable. Even Finnigan was distracted enough to forget to pester Draco, eagerly discussing the upcoming lesson with Thomas and Smith as they walked at the front of the group.

McGonagall was waiting for them by the tapestry when they entered the corridor, her expression as stoic as ever. "I see you have all received your letters."

She surveyed them until they were all standing before her. "I assume you've all deduced where our lessons will be held. Most of you will be quite familiar with this room, I'm sure."

Most of the Eighth Years nodded and grinned at each other.

"Given the nature of the Room of Requirement," McGonagall began. "We will meet in this corridor before every lesson. We require different accommodations from lesson to lesson, you see, and I will dictate what we need."

She turned toward the wall, and glanced back at them. "Stand back, would you please."

They all shuffled back a bit and she began to pace, her expression one of perfect concentration until she made the third pass. When she opened her eyes, a large wooden door appeared.

"This should do." She nodded. "Follow me."

She opened the door and they all followed her through. They entered a bare, cavernous room, lit sparsely by torchlight. It looked like the Great Hall if it was bigger and empty with moonlight shining in through the gothic windows.

McGonagall led them to the middle of the floor-space before turning around. Her voice echoed across the stones. "Our first lesson will deal with identifying our Animagus form. Can anyone tell me how this might be done?"

Granger's hand shot up into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" McGonagall nodded.

"The most accurate method is to produce a corporeal Patronus," Granger recited as if by rote.

Most of the class murmured at that.

"Excellent," McGonagall commented. "Yes, an individual's Patronus is often the best predictor of one's Animagus form. The accuracy of this method is quite high, except for in a few rare cases. Therefore, we will produce corporeal Patronuses first. How many of you have already accomplished this?"

Draco stiffened as most of the Eighth Years raised their hands. He'd never even attempted it, having had no motivation to learn it in the past. He'd heard that it had taken Potter months to master it, and then he had taught it to the DA. Most of the Eighth Years were former members, of course, including Finnigan and Smith. Finnigan smirked at him, before sharing a laugh with Smith. Draco clenched his scarred palm, but he did his best to appear unaffected.

"Very good," McGonagall commended as she surveyed them. "Those who can create Patronuses will demonstrate them for the class, and then they will teach the method to their peers who have not yet learned. It is important that you all learn how to produce a Patronus before the next lesson."

Those who hadn't raised their hands shifted restlessly, but Draco made sure to stifle his agitation. Now that he had his old wand back, it shouldn't be difficult to produce a corporeal Patronus. If Finnigan could learn it, so could he.

"Who would like to demonstrate first?" McGonagall asked.

Granger raised her hand before anyone else could.

McGonagall nodded to her. "Make room for Miss Granger."

They all split into a semicircle and Granger stepped into it, raised her wand, and said, "Expecto Patronum."

A glowing, blue-white otter emerged from the tip of her wand and gamboled about the space. A couple of the girls cooed at it, before Granger called it back, and it disappeared.

"Very good, Miss Granger," McGonagall commended. "It seems your Animagus form is an otter. I would like you to research everything you can about the animal, and write an essay on its characteristics for our next lesson." She surveyed the room at large. "I expect all of you to finish this assignment for your respective animals."

A fair few of the Eighth Years groaned at that, but McGonagall ignored them. "Who's next?"

Weasley stepped forward and produced some sort of dog that spiraled around in a circle before he called it back.

"A Jack Russell Terrier?" McGonagall questioned, making a note on a piece of parchment with her quill.

"Yes, Professor," Weasley replied, his ears a bit red.

"Very good," McGonagall stated. "Next?"

Ernie MacMillan produced a boar, which elicited a number of amused titters as it tottered about on its short stubby legs.

Terry Boot produced a hawk that flew about the room before landing on his arm and dissolving away.

Michael Corner's was a badger, which made Finnigan shout, "It looks like you were in the wrong house, Corner!" Corner just scowled, dissolving the badger with a swipe of his wand before stalking back to his place in the circle.

Anthony Goldstein produced a scorpion, which made a fair number of the girls shriek out loud as it skittered toward them. Goldstein smirked, but reluctantly dissolved it when he caught McGonagall's disapproving stare.

Susan Bones produced a long-haired cat with a bushy tail that McGonagall particularly approved of.

Hannah Abbott's was a small field mouse, which scurried between people's legs before it dissolved.

Lavender Brown produced a Unicorn, which was quite impressive, especially to the girls in the room. She let it canter regally about before it dissolved away.

Parvati Patil's was a massive boa constrictor that slid along the floor ethereally. She appeared quite embarrassed once it disappeared, but a fair number of the boys were obviously impressed. Draco was a bit disturbed. It reminded him too much of Nagini. He noticed Longbottom's expression turn uncommonly grim at the sight of it.

Her sister's was a sparrow that flit about the room. It made a far lighter impression.

Longbottom's was a Beagle. It sniffed around, wagging its tail happily before he called it back, his face uncommonly red. Draco could see the resemblance.

Seamus Finnigan was next, producing a small fox that pranced around and made the girls giggle. He retreated with a self-satisfied smile and a wink toward Draco. Draco glared at him.

Zacharias Smith produced a peacock, which really wasn't too shocking, all things considered. It was a useless bird that liked to show off more than it had.

Justin Finch-Fletchley's was a ferret, which Draco couldn't help finding amusing. Better Finch-Fletchley than him.

Finally, Potter stepped forward and incanted the spell. Everyone knew what to expect. They had all seen it before. Even Draco had seen it at close range, charging at him on the Quidditch pitch in third year. He had never admitted it, but the Stag was impressive, its large antlers granting it a sort of regal elegance. This was why the room was filled with shocked gasps, including Potter's, when something else slid out of the tip of his wand. It was large, but not as large as a Stag. It looked to be about half of Draco's height and as long as he was tall with lengthy fur and a canine build. When it turned, its ears twitched and it went still as if watching Potter for instructions.

"Sirius?" Potter breathed. He looked pale, his wand hand shaking. The Patronus didn't move, but merely stared back at him calculatingly. Finally, it moved toward him and Potter lowered his wand, dissolving it into a glowing haze until only darkness remained.

The room was uncommonly silent for a moment, everyone staring at Potter, who appeared shaken to the core.

"I take it your Patronus has changed, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall questioned softly.

Potter nodded stiffly. "Yes, Professor. It had always been a stag."

Draco could hear the sorrow in Potter's voice, and he remembered what Granger had said about Potter's father. He had been a stag as well.

"This is not uncommon," McGonagall informed him. "Traumatic events can often force an individual's Patronus to change. What do you think it is now?"

"It looked like…" Potter pushed a hand through his hair. Granger stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. He glanced back at her for a moment. "It looked like my Godfather's Animagus form. A large, black dog."

McGonagall wrote something on her parchment. "It could be, Mr. Potter. I want you to examine it more before the next lesson and make certain what it is. It would be a waste of time to research the animal if it turns out to be something else. Examine the Patronus's behaviors when you invoke it. That might give you some clues."

Potter nodded and stepped back beside Draco. Both Granger and Weasley were shooting Potter not-so-subtle looks of concern, but Potter didn't even seem to notice. He was staring at the spot where his Patronus had disappeared.

"Anyone else?" McGonagall asked the room at large. Everyone looked at each other but no one else stepped forward. "All right. Then will those who have yet to master a corporeal Patronus please step forward."

Draco reluctantly stepped into the circle along with Lisa Turpin and Su Li.

"I will instruct you three on the method," McGonagall began. "The rest of you can go back to your tower, but I expect you all to assist these three throughout the week until they produce a corporeal Patronus. And I would like you all to read the first chapter in your text books. You are dismissed."

The other Eighth Years nodded, before gathering their things and making their way out. Draco caught Potter's eye, who nodded to him. However, he still appeared moody and preoccupied as he turned away with Granger and Weasley. Finnigan and Smith were snickering and sending Draco uncharitable looks as they made their way out the door. Draco narrowed his eyes at them coolly, but inside he was humiliated. When Draco turned back, McGonagall had pulled out her wand.

"I'm sure you have all heard that this is a difficult charm," McGonagall stated crisply. "In fact, it is widely regarded as advanced magic, which is why it is not usually taught as part of the Hogwarts curriculum. The method itself is not hard to grasp, but the application can be difficult as it involves maintaining a certain mood, and many experienced witches and wizards have been known to have difficulty maintaining the charm."

From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Turpin and Li send each other uneasy looks. They ignored him completely.

"You must find the happiest memory you have and cling to it while casting," McGonagall continued. "Fortunately, none of you will have to face down a Dementor while producing a corporeal Patronus. As you can imagine, the task would become immeasurably difficult under such circumstances. The trick is finding the right memory and channeling the happiness from that memory into the Patronus's form, like so."

McGonagall pointed her wand and recited, "Expecto Patronum." A glowing white cat slinked out from the tip of her wand and rubbed up against her legs, before disappearing.

Turpin and Li clapped politely, and McGonagall smiled. "Let's see you try. First, find your happiest memory, and then state, 'Expecto Patronum'."

Draco pulled out his wand alongside the others and closed his eyes, trying to think of his happiest memory. He realized he didn't have any recent ones, and none since fourth year. Every seemingly happy memory before then appeared happy at first until he remembered something unfortunate tied to the event, like when Pansy had agreed to go to the ball with him, but then their relationship ended in disaster. He kept on thinking back until he reached the moment the sorting hat declared him for Slytherin. He supposed that was good enough. He had been fairly pleased at the time. When he opened his eyes, Turpin and Li were already standing at the ready.

Li went first, pointing her wand and stating the words with a slight smile on her face. Her wand ejected a fine glowing mist.

"That's a good start," McGonagall commended. "Perhaps it will take practice, or a stronger memory. You will have to figure out which."

Turpin followed, with the same result.

McGonagall nodded approvingly.

Draco pointed his wand, remembering the sorting hat shouting Slytherin, and incanted the words. Nothing happened. He frowned, McGonagall watching him closely. He tried again with the same result.

"You will need to find a happier memory, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall stated. "Sometimes, it takes time."

Draco nodded, feeling ridiculous. He couldn't help suspecting that Turpin and Li were silently laughing at him.

"Practice until you produce a corporeal Patronus, and solicit help from your peers. I expect an essay on your results," McGonagall stated. "You are dismissed."

Draco trudged back to the tower behind the other two, who were chatting and laughing amongst themselves. When he stepped through the Griffin portal, the common room was full of his lounging House mates, but Potter wasn't there. Granger was sitting at a table with Weasley in a corner of the room, and she caught Draco's eye.

"Let's see your Patronus, Malfoy!" Finnigan japed from his seat on the couch between Thomas, Smith, Brown, and Parvati Patil. "Is it corporeal yet? I bet you wished you had been in the DA now, eh?"

Smith and Thomas snickered, but Draco ignored them and made his way over to Granger. Weasley scowled at him as he drew near, but Draco ignored him too.

"Where's Potter?"

Granger placed her quill over her ear. "He went up to the dorm. He said he was tired."

Draco huffed out a short laugh.

"Something funny?" Weasley barked.

"No," Draco replied. He glanced back at Granger. "Just the opposite."

She stared at him searchingly.

"I'm tired too." Draco left them both and climbed the stairs.

When he reached the dormitory, he saw Potter's bed curtains were closed. He chucked off his clothes tiredly and fell onto his mattress. He closed his bed curtains as well, and pushed his wand beneath his pillow, exhaling. His mind wandered, and he tried to think of a happy memory, but his mood was too sour and it tainted everything he thought. He should just sleep and try it again in the morning. Surely he'd be more successful then.

And Potter would be back to himself.

Draco closed his eyes, and lost himself to dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is thickening. 
> 
> I enjoyed that conversation you guys had in the comments of the last chapter. I definitely choked on a laugh at one point. Thanks for reading! ;)


	9. Is the Knowledge That You Are

When Draco opened his eyes, the room was bright with sunlight and noisy as his dorm mates went about their morning routines. Draco sighed warily and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could hear someone laughing before the bathroom door closed, and others were chatting loudly as they dressed.

He mentally recalled his schedule and realized he only had Astronomy after dinner. It was probably the same for all the Eighth Years, which explained his dorm mates' particular boisterousness this early in the morning.

Tired of hiding in his four-poster, Draco dug around for his wand and pushed his curtains open. Some, like Goldstein, Boot, and Corner glanced his way, but the rest ignored him. Mercifully, Finnigan, Thomas, and Smith were absent, but the Weasel's and Potter's bed curtains were still closed. Longbottom nodded to him as he watered an odd plant on the window sill. Draco nodded back, but Longbottom seemed to notice his curiosity, because he explained, "It's Dittany for healing. Comes in handy when I get banged up by the more dangerous plants in the green houses."

"Those are quite rare," Boot commented as he made his bed, which neighbored Longbottom's.

"Yeah," Longbottom blushed. "One of only forty shrubs in Great Britain, actually."

"How'd you manage that?" Corner questioned, just as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"It was a gift," Longbottom replied. "From Professor Sprout."

"Teacher's pet," Corner accused fondly.

Longbottom just shrugged, his ears reddening.

Draco ignored them, craving a shower. He flicked his wand and accioed his cleaning supplies without so much as a hitch. If his old wand hadn't been working so well in every other respect, he might have blamed it for his inability to cast a Patronus the night before. He wasn't sure it was at all comforting that it was merely his fault.

Fortunately, there was a free shower stall when he entered the bathroom, and he ignored the other occupants of the room as he stripped and hung his clothes up off the floor. He relaxed under the stream of hot water as it beat into his tense muscles, and tried to think of something happy. His memory of the sorting clearly wasn't blissful enough. Perhaps, it was because Slytherin was no longer his House. He admitted that certainly complicated his emotions on the matter. He supposed he had to think back further, to his childhood. He remembered birthdays and trips to Paris, pulling pranks on the Manor house elves and riding his first broomstick, but all of that reminded him of his father and what had become of his home.

Draco sighed in frustration, pressing his forehead against the cool tile beneath the showerhead as the hot water washed down his back. He was beginning to realize, with all of this forced self-examination, that he had rarely ever been truly happy. He could hardly remember the last time he had felt contentment unhampered by the pressures of his life, or enjoyed a moment untainted by subsequent events. The truth was, and this was hardly a surprise, that he was a fairly unhappy person. How was he supposed to create something that was the embodiment of joy, if he had none of it to give?

Unsurprisingly, he was in a terrible mood when he exited the shower. The bathroom was unpopulated by that time, so he was free to mope openly. He stared into the mirror, searching for all of that self-confidence he seemed to have misplaced, and then wondered if he had ever truly been self-confident in the first place. He had spent an awful lot of his Hogwarts career strutting about the halls, but his thoughts had always been about proving himself – to his father, to his House mates, to his professors, even to Potter. He had never been good enough, and that had angered him. He had played at arrogance, but inside he had been the epitome of resentment, and most of it had been directed toward those he'd envied.

The door opened behind him and Potter stepped in. Draco jumped, nearly losing the towel around his waist, before he managed to turn around.

Potter sent him an odd look. "Alright?"

"Fine," Draco lied, trying to ignore the fact that he was half-naked in Potter's presence. He looked Potter over. His eyes were puffy as if he'd barely slept a wink, although his cheek was imprinted with the wrinkles of his pillowcase. "Rough night?"

Potter shrugged noncommittally, moving toward a shower stall. Potter casually began to undress and Draco immediately turned away toward the mirror, which was unhelpful. He could see Potter's reflection as every inch of his backside was revealed, from his head to his toes. He was predictably lean with a muscular back and a pert bum that was usually hidden within too-big trousers. Draco bit his lip.

When Potter stepped into the shower stall and closed the fogged glass door behind him, he left his clothes in a heap on the floor. Draco itched to pick them up, but he couldn't exactly move. Not with the new and unwelcome tent between his legs. Draco sent himself a harassed look in the mirror, and absently waved his wand to dry his curling hair, flicking it again to remove the morning stubble along his jaw. He tried to drown out the sound of water hitting Potter's naked skin by reminding himself of that one time he'd stumbled upon Millicent in her birthday suit. It didn't exactly do the trick until he imagined Greg there with her, and then he was left wishing he hadn't gone that far.

He moved quickly to get his clothes off the rack, and shimmied into his pants. Then folded the towel and placed it on the counter where the house elves could find it, before making his escape.

The moment the cool air of the dormitory hit his skin, he took a deep breath of relief, then looked about. The room was empty now, and he could hear others down in the common room. He quickly dressed in clean clothes, gray slacks with a white button-down shirt, before deciding it would be best if he wasn't there when Potter exited the shower. He entered the half-full common room with the vague notion of searching out an unoccupied room in the castle to practice his Patronus charm alone, but Granger caught his eye from her seat at the same table she'd occupied the night before. He toyed with pretending he couldn't see her, but by that moment they had made eye contact for far too long and her expression was expectant. Draco reluctantly made his way over to her, inwardly grumbling.

"Where's the Weasel?" Draco greeted as he stopped in front of the small round table.

"Breakfast," she replied crisply. "Is Harry still up there?"

"Shower," Draco repaid in kind.

"Hm," Granger murmured. Her expression as she turned her attention to the window was slightly troubled. "How was he?"

"Naked," Draco heard himself say with distant horror. He was beginning to think he would be better off sealing his mouth shut.

Granger looked back at him, frowning. "That's not exactly what I meant."

"That's all I know." Draco shrugged faux casually. "Is that all? I'm actually quite busy."

She stared at him for longer than was warranted, in Draco's opinion. "Sit."

"You do know I'm not a dog, right?" Draco sneered. "That doesn't work on people."

Granger appeared unamused. "You'll be going to breakfast, won't you? We'll wait for Harry together."

"I don't think so," Draco objected. "I'm busy."

"Don't you need help with your Patronus?" Granger questioned shrewdly, placing her quill carefully in its holder. "Harry is the best teacher. We all learned from him, after all."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "I doubt Potter is in the mood."

"He'll teach you," Granger insisted stubbornly. "He doesn't ignore those he can help."

She was right, Draco admitted. Potter wouldn't turn him away if he admitted he needed the help, and while he balked at the idea of revealing his paltry performance, he knew that his best chance was to learn from him. He didn't want to remain unable to produce a Patronus when Finnigan and most everyone else had already mastered the charm, and he could admit that practicing on his own looked like a grim and futile alternative. Granger stared him down for a long moment, and he finally relented, sitting in the chair opposite her with a huff.

Granger smiled, obviously satisfied as she picked up her quill and continued writing what was already a meter long essay. Bored, Draco stared out the window and vaguely wondered if he'd have time to work on his essays as well before Potter came down. He stiffened in alarm when someone sat down beside him, but he relaxed when glanced over and saw who it was. Potter appeared slightly flushed from the shower, his hair still damp and curling a bit around his ears. Draco tried to tell himself that the overall effect was far from attractive. It was a tough sell.

"You two haven't actually become friends, have you?" Potter asked in mock alarm.

"We tolerate each other," Draco allowed dryly.

Granger looked up from her essay and gave Potter the once over, her expression enigmatic.

"What?" Potter asked.

"Draco needs help with his Patronus, and we still need to classify yours," she replied. "I was thinking we should find a space where we can practice after breakfast."

"I can help Draco, but…" Potter trailed off, biting his lip uncomfortably.

Draco suspected he knew why, and so had Granger, apparently. Her gaze softened with understanding. "You're going to have to cast it sooner or later. Wouldn't it be best to just get it over and done with?"

"I already know what it is," Potter muttered.

"I'm not so certain," Granger stated thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Potter questioned, glancing down at his hands on the table. "You saw it. It looked like a big dog."

"Yes, but we still don't know what breed," Granger explained. "In order to prepare for your transformation into the animal, you have to understand everything about its specific traits and behaviors. If you research a Great Dane and it turns out to be a Border Collie, you might not be able to transform."

Potter stared at her with a frown, appearing reluctant and unconvinced, but he nodded anyway. "Fine."

"Good." Granger nodded, then got up and packed her things. "Let's go to the Great Hall. I'm famished. Most likely Ron is still there."

"Is she always this domineering?" Draco questioned.

Potter shrugged with a tired smile. "You'll get used to it."

"Not likely," Draco muttered, but Potter didn't comment as Draco followed them both out of the tower.

They found Weasley stuffing his face at the table next to Longbottom and Hannah Abbott. Weasley's greeting was muffled into incoherency by the eggs in his mouth as Granger sat down beside him, his pale, freckled cheeks bloated with food. Personally, Draco couldn't fathom how she could look at that face and love it, but to each his own, he supposed. Sunshine filtered through the projected ceiling and actually warmed Draco's back as he sat beside Potter. The morning light made every surface gleam invitingly. Relaxing somewhat, Draco plucked some toast with egg from a platter and filled his goblet with strong hot coffee, before adding a liberal amount of sugar and cream. By the time he was done, it barely tasted like coffee. Just the way he liked it.

"Care for some coffee with your sugar and cream?" Potter observed with one eyebrow raised.

Draco glanced at Potter's plate, which sported a lone pancake drowning in a lake of syrup. He sent Potter a look. "You're one to talk."

Potter shrugged and stuffed a large chunk of dripping pancake into his mouth. Draco stared at the syrup that dribbled down Potter's chin, itching to wipe it away, or better yet, lick it. Potter wiped it away with a napkin before Draco could act on the impulse. Draco ripped his gaze away. This was getting out of hand. He felt Granger watching him, but her attention was commandeered by Weasley by the time Draco looked up at her.

"Good morning." The Weaslette leaned over Potter's opposite shoulder, smiling.

"Hey," Potter replied, he sounded happy but Draco couldn't see his expression as Potter faced her.

"You've got something on your…" the Weaslette began, before wiping her thumb along his jaw. "There."

She stuck her thumb in her mouth, and pulled it out, looking thoughtful. "Hm…maple syrup." She glanced at his plate. "I see you've drowned the pancake again."

"It was asking for it," Potter replied easily.

The Weaslette chuckled.

Draco wanted to gag, or throw something. He couldn't decide which, although he did neither. That would invite too many questions. He persevered at ignoring the two love birds, but his appetite had left him. His stomach had become a lead weight of despair. It was really quite pathetic. He took a swig of coffee for want of something better to do as Potter and the Weaslette continued to chat, the Weasel breaking in to the conversation every once and a while when his mouth wasn't filled with foodstuffs. They all ignored Draco in kind. He didn't know whether that irritated him more or less.

Laughter erupted from the other end of the table, and Draco noticed a suspicious number of eyes watching him, before quickly darting away. The Patils, Brown, Li, and Turpin huddled around each other straight across from Finnigan, Smith, Thomas, Corner, and Boot. They were still laughing, some sending him amused looks before sharing significant looks with each other and bursting out into laughter again. Draco narrowed his eyes distrustfully.

" _Merlin_ ," Finnigan exclaimed, hardly trying to keep his voice down in his mirth. "He couldn't even create anything after two tries?"

Li nodded with a smirk. At least Turpin had the grace to appear slightly uncomfortable, but the damage was done.

"Between that and the incident in Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'd have to wonder if Malfoy's become a squib," Smith chortled.

"It'd be less than he deserves," Finnigan observed with a smirk. "I reckon McGonagall will have to drop him soon enough."

It was obvious that they knew Draco could hear them, and they couldn't give a toss. Longbottom and Abbott had heard as well, and the former was glancing between Draco and the others with an expression of mounting concern. Draco glared down at his plate, anger and humiliation warring inside him. He didn't need this. He needed to be somewhere else.

Shakily, Draco stood up and walked away from the table. Another burst of laughter chorused from behind him, but he didn't look back. It seemed as though every eye in the Great Hall was on him, the walls closing in from all sides. Although, he quickly recognized that as paranoia. Barely any of the younger students spared him a glance as he passed.

He walked until he was out the front doors and onto the grounds, the sun nearly blinding him at first before his eyes readjusted. He only stopped when he met the lake edge, in the shade of a large oak. He was out of breath but not from walking, his hand clenching the wand in his pocket like a lifeline. He ripped it out and pointed it at a sizable rock, levitating it before flinging it out into the lake as far as he could. A squib couldn't do that. He knew that for certain. He watched the resultant splash moodily, and then sat down against the tree in frustration. He pushed a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. A temper tantrum wouldn't do him any good. It just gave them what they wanted. It made him look a fool.

He had been levitating and skipping smaller rocks across the placid surface of the lake for a while when someone came up behind him, casting him in shadow.

"Hey."

Draco didn't reply, and after a moment, Potter sat down beside him.

Draco flung another rock and watched it skip about twelve times before it finally sank. Potter remained uncharacteristically silent beside him as he looked out over the lake.

After he sent three more rocks to the mermaids, Draco finally lowered his wand. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you."

"Where's the Weaslette," Draco heard himself ask, his tone bitter.

"Divination. Why?"

"No reason," Draco denied, shaking his head. That way lay madness. From the corner of his eye, he could see Potter idly pick at a patch of grass.

"You shouldn't listen to that lot. They're just being prats."

"I don't care what they have to say," Draco retorted moodily. "I just needed some air."

Potter stopped picking at the grass and Draco could feel his eyes on him. "You'll just have to find a happier memory."

Draco scowled and flung another rock into the lake, not even bothering to skip it. Potter watched the resultant splash before glancing back at Draco.

"Tell me, Potter. Have you ever cast a spell and had nothing happen?"

"Erm…no," Potter replied awkwardly.

"Of course," Draco spat cynically, and he threw another rock with slightly more force.

"That doesn't mean anything," Potter insisted.

"I'm beginning to suspect it wasn't my wand that was…" Draco began, but then he shook his head again, flinging an even bigger rock out into the lake. He watched the larger splash dispassionately. "I don't have any happy memories."

"I doubt that."

"It's true," Draco retorted heatedly. "I've thought all the way back to my birth and there is no happy event that hasn't been tainted. Everything I had ever enjoyed has been destroyed in one way or another. My family, my friends, my home…my _life_."

He clamped his mouth shut and flung another rock into the lake. He'd already said too much, and it had left him frustrated all over again. He watched the rock sink and a large, slimy tentacle breached the surface before the water went still again.

"Then maybe you'll have to make a new one."

Draco looked at Potter then. His green gaze was earnest, his face dappled in the sunlight that shone through the leaves overhead. Draco sighed irritably. "I have less than a week."

"That's long enough," Potter insisted seriously. "What makes you happy?"

"I don't know," Draco mumbled. "I haven't…I'm not exactly the happiest person."

Potter's smiled wryly. "Neither am I."

"You can't be worse than me."

"I can and I have been," Potter insisted. "Just ask Hermione and Ron. They'll tell you what it was like to live in a tent with me near the end of the war."

Draco couldn't help smirking at that. He could just imagine how terrible that could have been. Potter had never been known for his calm demeanor at Hogwarts. It was only recently that he had become so detached. It was easy to forget the way he had been.

"I'll help you," Potter stated. "If I could master the Patronus charm in third year then you can master one now. You just have to work at it."

"Optimist," Draco accused.

Potter shrugged. "It's the truth. Sometimes you just have to believe it can happen. I actually didn't produce a corporeal Patronus until I saw myself do it."

Draco raised his eyebrow at him.

"It's a long story." Potter shook his head.

"Indulge me," Draco pressed.

Potter pushed a hand through his hair and leaned back against the tree trunk behind him. "Ok, I'll make it short. At the end of third year, Hermione and I used her time-turner to go back in time, and I saw my past self cast a corporeal patronus that saved Sirius from Dementors. At first, I thought it was my father who cast it, but then when the moment came in the present, I suddenly knew that it had been me…and because I knew that, I knew I could cast it. So I did."

"So that's how Sirius Black escaped that night," Draco realized.

Potter nodded. "With Buckbeak."

"That beast had nearly sliced off my arm," Draco muttered bitterly. "I'd been anticipating its execution."

"That was your fault," Potter stated bluntly, his expression grim. "You didn't listen to Hagrid's instructions. And Buckbeak hardly sliced off your arm. You milked that injury for all it was worth, and an innocent animal nearly died because of it. We saw an opportunity to save two lives and took it."

Draco glared at him, but didn't reply. He knew what Potter had said was true. He'd wanted to kill the creature out of petty spite, not only to get back at it, but Hagrid and Potter as well. He'd sentenced it to death as easily as breathing air, because he'd had no appreciation for what that meant. Not until he'd been forced to confront his own mortality in the Dark Lord's care had he understood what cruelty could do and what it could destroy. Potter's gaze was unwavering and, ashamed, Draco switched his attention to the glistening lake.

"What were you doing with a time-turner?" Draco questioned softly, his tone apologetic because he couldn't drudge up the words.

"It was Hermione's," Potter replied. "She had a lot of classes that year."

"Hm…" Draco muttered. "Seems like someone received special treatment."

Potter rolled his eyes. "My point is that as long as you know you can do it, you'll do it. You just need to have confidence."

"If it was that easy, I would have already done it," Draco mumbled.

"It isn't easy," Potter corrected. "A fair number of accomplished wizards have difficulty with the charm, but I've taught most of the people in our House and I can teach you. You just have to trust me."

Draco stared at Potter and took in his determined expression. "That's asking a lot of a former Slytherin. I don't trust anyone."

"You aren't in Slytherin anymore," Potter replied. "And I'm a former Gryffindor, anyway."

Draco looked out at the lake, absently running his fingers along his scarred palm.

"Fine," Draco relented reluctantly, and Potter smiled. But Draco thought it important that he add, "But only on the condition that you work on identifying your own Patronus."

Potter paused and bit his lip. Draco could tell he was just as reluctant to agree, but eventually he nodded. "Fine. I'd already promised Hermione anyway."

Potter stood up and brushed off his slacks, before offering his hand to Draco.

Draco hesitated for only a moment before taking it. He tried to pull his hand away the moment he was up, but Potter grabbed his wrist and rotated his palm upward. Draco stiffened as Potter took in the scars.

"What -?"

"It's nothing," Draco denied automatically.

Potter ran a thumb along the middle of his palm where the skin was so damaged Draco could barely feel it, but he felt it in other ways. The touch was tender, and Potter's expression unreadable.

"How did this happen?" Potter questioned as he spread Draco's fingers to see the extent of the scars.

"It got burned," Draco replied.

Potter glanced up at him then, realization dawning in his eyes. "You didn't heal it?"

"I…" Draco paused, unsure if he should tell the truth, but Potter's gaze was open and questioning, and Draco realized he couldn't stop the words from flowing out. "I needed to remember." _What I'd done, what you'd done for me._

Potter stared at him for a long moment, still holding Draco's hand in both of his. Intellectually, Draco knew this was nothing more for Potter than friendly concern, but it didn't calm Draco's racing heart or the butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach. He wished Potter would let him go, and at the same time, he wished he wouldn't. It was ridiculous. It was masochistic, but he couldn't pull away.

"Does it hurt?" Potter muttered into the silence, his expression sincere.

"No," Draco replied softly. "It isn't cursed."

"There you are."

Potter dropped Draco's hand and they both turned, startled, to find Granger leaning against the tree, her large book bag slung over one shoulder and a quill perched on her ear.

"Hermione," Potter uttered.

If she thought their actions odd, she didn't let on. "You've been gone so long, Ron was convinced you two had gotten into a fight, and I'd find you both gruesomely hexed. But here I find you both fully intact. I hope you've been using this time to cast Patronuses."

"We were just about to start," Potter replied, glancing at Draco for support.

"Yes," Draco caught on. "In fact, I've just convinced Potter to demonstrate."

Potter's expression fell at that, and he sent Draco a look. Draco ignored it, his lips twitching.

"Oh, good!" Granger commended. "Do you want to do it out here or in the room Ron found?"

"We'd better do it in private," Potter replied with a glance at Draco. "For Draco's attempt."

Draco scowled.

Potter appeared all too pleased with himself as they made their way back into the castle. They traversed empty halls, populated only by portraits and suits of armor, before they reached a door on the third floor that was cracked open. Granger pushed through it and they entered to find Weasley sitting on an abandoned cabinet, boredly orbiting balls of parchment around the room with his wand.

In half a second he noticed them and the balls dropped. He glared at Draco. "So you're alive."

"Sorry to disappoint," Draco stated dryly, stepping into the room and leaning against a dust-laden desk. He looked around. "Could you not have found a cleaner room?"

"Feel free to clean it, if you want," Weasley retorted. "This was the best I could find."

"I suppose that's what your mother said when you moved into your hovel."

Weasley bristled and moved toward him, but Granger gripped his arm and sent Draco the coldest look he had ever seen her give. "If you're going to be an arse, you should leave."

Draco glanced between her and Potter, who was watching him intently from his place beside the window. He frowned. "I'll be good if the Weasel is."

Granger shared a meaningful look with Weasley, and he shrugged out of her hold, but he didn't object.

"Good," she commended like the mother-hen she was. "Let's get this over with. I suppose you should start, Harry."

Potter appeared far from willing, but he obediently stepped away from the window, and pulled out his wand. "Fine. I already know it's Sirius, though."

He raised his wand and incanted the charm. They all watched as the Patronus took shape. It certainly appeared canine but it was larger than most dogs, its snout uniquely long. It stared at Potter, its ears at attention, but when he didn't do or say anything, it began to stalk the room, sniffing carefully. Now that Draco had a good look at it, he doubted it was a dog at all. It looked wilder, like a…

"It's a wolf," Granger stated confidently as she watched it traverse the room.

"What?" Potter uttered.

"It's not a dog," Granger informed him steadily. "I've seen wolves on nature programs. Their heads are larger than a dog's with pointy ears and long, blunt muzzles. Their legs are also longer than a dog's with shaggy fur on the rest of their body. Your patronus is a wolf. A very large wolf, by the looks of it. Possibly a Yukon wolf. Those are the largest."

"I don't know, Hermione," Potter stated doubtfully. "Padfoot was a pretty big dog."

"Not this big," Granger insisted.

Potter glanced at Draco. Draco shrugged. "I'd have to agree with Granger. It looks too undomesticated."

As if helping Draco prove his point, the Patronus stopped and sniffed the air in Draco's direction, before opening its mouth in a silent howl.

"Blimey," Weasley uttered.

"But…why?" Potter questioned, appearing astonished.

"Does it matter?" Weasley breathed excitedly. "Your Animagus form is a top-class predator! It'll definitely be useful when you're an Auror. I wish mine was a wolf. What am I going to do with a Jack Russell Terrier?"

"We already know that Patronuses can change after the caster experiences a traumatic event," Granger reminded Potter, then opened her text book and scanned a page. "And Patronuses often share specific characteristics with their caster. It's obvious that the final battle has changed you, and this new Patronus probably best reflects that. The text book has an entire chapter on Animagus forms. I'm certain the wolf is here somewhere…here it is."

She sat down on the cabinet behind her and began to read. "To understand one's Patronus and thus, one's Animagus form, one should become familiar with the common lore of Spirit Guides, as this is essentially what they are. The form a Patronus takes is thought to best reflect the caster's soul…" She paused, reading down the page. "The wolf is commonly known to be associated with death and rebirth and was often invoked by ancient Shamans to guide mortals into the spirit world. To have a wolf patronus is to be linked intimately with the afterlife, and those who cast it have either nearly died or have experienced the death of multiple loved ones."

Granger glanced up at Potter significantly before continuing. "Lesser characteristics are related to the animal's behaviors in the wild. Wolves are highly social creatures with strict familial hierarchies. They are loyal to their pack and are quick to protect them from outside dangers. It is generally accepted that Witches and Wizards who produce this Patronus tend to form deep bonds with close friends and family members, and they tend to fear being alone. Wolves are also highly intelligent creatures, and those Witches and Wizards connected to them usually reflect that, particularly in their adeptness at outwitting enemies. The Witch or the Wizard with a wolf patronus would do well to consider joining the Aurors, where canine Patronuses are highly represented."

"That does sound like you, mate," Weasley observed when the room fell silent. "Especially that first bit."

By that point, the wolf had padded over to Draco and started to sniff him curiously. He stared down at it and it cocked its head expectantly, before nuzzling his pant leg with its ghostly nose. "I think your Patronus wants something."

"It's obviously quite fond of you," Granger stated in amusement. "Wolves often nuzzle and rub up against members of their pack as a friendly gesture."

Draco smiled despite himself and glanced up at Potter, who was watching his Patronus in bemusement. "It seems your wolf likes me better than your best mate."

Weasley scowled. "That doesn't mean anything."

Granger let out an exasperated sigh and placed a hand on Weasley's shoulder. " _Honestly_. I'm sure Harry's Patronus likes you both equally."

By this point, the Patronus was rubbing its insubstantial neck along the side of Draco's hip. It was an odd experience, given that he couldn't actually feel it. But it pleased him nonetheless, and he smirked haughtily as Weasley glared at him.

"That's enough of that, I think," Weasley complained. "Call it back, Harry."

Harry acquiesced and lowered his wand, dissolving the Patronus until it was no more.

"Well I, for one, think your new Patronus is a marked improvement," Draco drawled.

"You would," Weasley muttered sullenly.

Draco only smirked.

Granger shook her head. "It's your turn, Draco."

Draco's smirk fell away.

"We had a deal," Potter reminded him, smiling slightly.

"I wasn't going to refuse," Draco retorted, trepidation filling him to the brim. "Just give me a moment." He glanced over at the Weasel. "Does he really have to be here?"

"Oh, I'm not missing this," Weasley informed him.

"Brilliant," Draco muttered. Then warned, "Don't be surprised if I can't hold a happy thought with you in the room."

"Just close your eyes and find your happy place, Malfoy," Weasley cajoled. "If it exists."

"Shut it, Weasel," Draco spat, and pulled out his wand. He stepped into the middle of the room and closed his eyes, thinking about how much he loathed that freckly berk. He thought about hexing him into an actual weasel, which did make him feel mildly happy, but he doubted that would be enough. He tried to think of anything joyful that had happened to him since he'd woken up this morning, but his thoughts kept on diverting to the git watching him and certainly waiting for him to fail. It was maddening. If only he could humiliate Weasley in return, that would make him happy. Just like when Potter's Patronus chose Draco over him.

Draco stiffened, his stomach swooping with excitement. That was it. He thought about the wolf, and an unexpected well of pleasure filled him. He couldn't help smiling. Even if it hadn't meant anything at all, the memory of the wolf nuzzling against him affectionately made him happier than he'd felt in years. And he knew why that was. The Patronus was a part of Potter, after all, and maybe it was completely mental, but having his Patronus choose him over the Weasel almost made up for the fact that Potter had chosen Weasley over him all those years ago. It reminded him how different things were now, how different he was. Maybe he had lost everything he'd cared about in his past life. Maybe that wasn't the point. This was something new. He was starting over and for whatever mad reason, in this life, Potter wanted to be his friend. Merlin, even Granger seemed to want that too. Draco held onto that feeling, remembering the Patronus nuzzling his leg, Potter offering his hand, his eyes bright in the dappled sunlight, and he cast the charm.

When he opened his eyes, the air was filled with a pulsing, iridescent mist.

"Not bad," Potter commended with a soft smile. "Now it's just a matter of capturing that feeling and strengthening it."

Weasley appeared disappointed. "I thought you couldn't even produce anything."

Draco smirked. "Thank you, Weasley."

"For what?" Weasley questioned suspiciously.

"My happy memory was watching you fail at Quidditch."

"Shut it, wanker."

Draco merely smirked.

"Whatever, I'm leaving," Weasley muttered. "You coming, Hermione?"

"Alright, I should be getting to the library anyway," Granger sighed, gathering her book bag. She glanced at Draco. "Practice more and you should get it."

Once they left, Potter asked, "What was the real memory?"

Draco shrugged, not quite willing to admit that yet. "I just knew I could do it, so I did."

Potter sent him a half-smile, seeming to understand that Draco was hedging, but he didn't press it.

Draco cast the charm several more times with similar results, Potter offering the occasional tip, before the sun began to set and the room darkened. They made their way to dinner side-by-side, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and for the first time in a long time, Draco felt content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update this time, given that I won't have time to update tomorrow.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and the kind comments. I love to hear your thoughts!


	10. When You're Cursed with a Love

"Hand me the Ashwinder eggs, Longbottom," Draco muttered and lit a small fire beneath their cauldron.

Longbottom didn't appear to have heard him, and Draco glanced at him irritably to find him staring dreamily into the distance, a stupid smile on his face.

"Longbottom!" Draco barked.

"Eh?" Longbottom jumped, dropping the knife in his hand. Draco had to pull his out of the way before it skewered him. The knife buried itself in the wood of their desk, and Draco stared, wide eyed, at the spot where his hand once was, before glaring at him.

"Sorry!" Longbottom exclaimed, his face reddening. "What were you saying?"

"The Ashwinder eggs," Draco stated slowly. Honestly, it was like speaking to a two-year-old. "I'm in need of them."

"Right," Longbottom uttered hurriedly, scooping up the eggs and dropping them into the cup of Draco's scarred palm.

Draco sent him a look before swirling the purple liquid in the cauldron three times clockwise and once anticlockwise. When it came to a boil, he dropped the eggs in. He and Longbottom stared until a puff of smoke rose, smelling of grass and sunlit days. It was eerily familiar.

Draco glanced up at the cauldron on Slughorn's desk, smoke rising from it in curling tendrils. He could smell the completed Amortentia all the way from his seat, and it was a bit distracting. He glanced at Potter, who was brewing his own potion beside Weasley across the room, then quickly looked away. He could smell Potter in the potion, mixed in with the scents of the charged air before a storm and the sweets his mother often sent him. He had a pleasingly musky scent, a mix of soap and sweat that Draco couldn't help breathing in whenever Potter was near, and now he could smell it hanging in the air all around him, tying his stomach in knots as he attempted in vain to concentrate. He wondered if this was a part of some sort of sick joke Slughorn had concocted or if the man really was as obtuse as he seemed. He'd told the class he had placed the pearly liquid on his desk as an example of what they should expect if their potion was successful, but it seemed to act as more of an obstacle. Most of the Eighth Years were now afflicted with glazed, distracted looks as they fumbled with their own brews. Weasley appeared particularly preoccupied as Potter repeatedly blocked him from adding the wrong ingredients to their cauldron.

Masochistically, Draco wondered what Potter could smell in the Amortentia's swirling fog. Probably something having to do with Quidditch, maple syrup, and the Weaslette. Draco shuddered involuntarily. That was far from an attractive combination.

Embittered, Draco picked up a moonstone and dropped it into the cauldron without much thought to containing the splash. The potion rippled and hissed threateningly, but then calmed and brightened as the stone dissolved.

Draco sat back in his seat. "Now we wait a week."

Longbottom didn't appear to hear him, his gaze faraway once again. Draco huffed exasperatedly, but didn't press it. He was trying as hard as he could to suppress his own daydreams. He didn't even want to contemplate what Longbottom and Hannah Abbott were currently getting up to in Longbottom's head. Although maybe if he did, it would divert him from his own ill-advised fantasies. Much against his will, Draco glanced over at Potter again, and tensed when Potter caught his eye. Potter grinned nonchalantly, plucking some lavender out of Weasley's hand and placing it down before the berk could drop it into their cauldron. What little hope Draco had secretly fostered shriveled away in that moment. Potter appeared completely clear-headed, one of the few in the room.

The lesson couldn't end soon enough, and once it had, Draco stood up hurriedly, glad to be rid of the potion fuming merrily in the middle of the room. Exiting into the hall was like emerging from a dense fog and he found it much easier to think until his tormenter stepped up beside him, bringing his cloying aroma with him.

"Despite Ron's repeated attempts at sabotage," Potter commented as they made their way through the hall. "I reckon our Amortentia is passable,"

"That isn't sabotage," Draco informed him. "That would imply Weasley was trying to ruin your potion on purpose."

Potter shook his head and grinned. "I suppose your Amortentia is coming along swimmingly."

"Of course," Draco stated matter-of-factly. "Not even a talentless lump like Longbottom can subvert my mastery of the subject."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Neville's gotten a lot better now that Snape's gone and you know it. You wouldn't still partner with him otherwise."

"Hm," Draco muttered noncommittally. The truth was he'd probably still partner Longbottom because Longbottom was the only one who would partner with him. It's not as if he had a choice in the matter.

The halls grew more crowded the closer they got to the Great Hall. They were forced to navigate their way through a particularly large and stationary group of chattering Hufflepuffs, before they reached the equally congested entrance hall.

"Hermione's going to the library after dinner," Potter stated once the noise level dropped just enough to be heard. "She said you could join her if you want."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What about you and Weasley?"

"Shockingly, Ron's sick of studying," Potter stated dryly. "And I've a date with Ginny."

Draco frowned. "Sounds like loads of fun."

Potter shrugged awkwardly. "That's the plan."

Draco stared at his profile for a moment. Potter glanced back at him, standing in the warm, brightly lit threshold of the Great Hall. "What?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing, Potter. Tell Granger I had to refuse her generous offer."

He stepped back and Potter frowned. "You're not coming to dinner?"

Draco had lost his appetite. "I need to practice conjuring my Patronus. Alone."

Potter stared at him and he looked like he might argue, but then he seemed to think better of it. A fair number of students loitering near the doors were watching their interaction curiously and he obviously didn't want to give them something to talk about. "Alright. I'll see you later then."

Draco nodded curtly and turned around, moving against the flow of students. His feet followed the familiar path to the empty classroom where he and Potter had spent a majority of the weekend. His Patronus hadn't improved much, but it had been enjoyable all the same. He'd spent time practicing while Potter had observed and offered feedback, but they'd also taken breaks and nicked food from the kitchens. Potter had even conjured his Patronus once or twice, and the wolf had followed Draco around like a lost puppy. He'd had Potter all to himself, and he'd forgotten for a moment that the Weaslette was even in the picture.

It was stupid, really. It was a miracle he and Potter were even friends, and here he was, lamenting the fact that they couldn't be more. He was supposed to follow his initial plan and deny these ridiculous feelings, but he was beginning to suspect that was impossible. The Amortentia had confirmed it, after all. He'd never felt this strongly for anyone before, and he was buggered if he knew how to stop.

He turned a corner and heard raised voices, pulling him out of his morose thoughts. There were three students still in the hall, standing off against each other. One of them was pushed back against the wall as the other two pointed their wands in his face. Draco narrowed his eyes when he noticed their robes. Two Gryffindors against a Slytherin. They looked to be Seventh Years. It was an all too familiar sight.

"Say that again, Harper!"

"That would be a waste of breath," the Slytherin sneered. Draco frowned, he recognized him now. Harper had replaced him on the Slytherin Quidditch team in Sixth Year.

"Wanker! You should have never come back!"

Harper laughed humorlessly. "I'm not threatened by squibs."

"Who're you calling squibs?" one of the Gryffindors spat.

"How about I hex you into one?" the other threatened, digging the tip of his wand into Harper's throat.

Draco pulled out his wand and strode forward. "That's enough."

The Gryffindors turned toward him, stiffening in alarm, but then they seemed to recognize him, and their postures relaxed slightly. That was not an especially good sign.

"And what are you going to do, Malfoy?" One of them questioned boldly. "I should hex you as well."

"You say that like you could," Draco drawled.

The two Gryffindors smirked at each other.

"Actually, we already have," the irritatingly bold one sneered.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Were they having him on? "You will forgive me if I find that hard to believe. I don't even know who you are."

"Nigel Wolpert," The bold Gryffindor introduced himself mock politely. "And this is Jimmy Peakes. We both fought in the final battle, and we saw our friends murdered by yours."

"Don't think we don't know what you're up to, following Harry Potter around," Peakes stated heatedly. "The whole school knows you can't be trusted. We all know you're just using him to save yourself, but that won't protect you for long. Whatever you're doing to manipulate Harry, you'd better stop."

"That's none of your business." Draco scowled. "Like I'd be cowed by the likes of you."

"Oh yeah? Take that, Death Eater scum!" Peakes sing-songed, and Wolpert laughed with him.

"That was quite a fall, Malfoy," Wolpert sneered. "I'm surprised you don't remember it. Must have knocked your head."

Draco's eyes widened. The night he'd gotten out of the Infirmary, after the Odio draught had nearly burned him alive. He remembered falling to the ground in the hallway, the breath knocked out of him, his meal spread out around him in pieces. He found it hard to believe that these two twits had taken him down. He'd always suspected it had been Finnigan and Smith. Somehow, this was far more humiliating.

"Put down your wands or I'll do it for you," Draco threatened coldly, raising his wand.

"I'd like to see you try," Wolpert muttered grimly.

"My pleasure," Draco smirked, thinking of a particularly sinister hex, but just as he flicked his wand, something caught his wrist.

He looked behind him into electric blue eyes.

"What is the meaning of this, Malfoy?" Professor Proudfoot questioned as her fingers tightened around his wrist, her gaze surveying him coldly.

"Nothing, Professor," Draco lied.

Her eyes narrowed. "Really? It appeared as though you were about to hex these two students."

"He was, Professor," Wolpert agreed. "We were just minding our business and he tried to attack us."

"Did he now?" she replied skeptically. "Then why are your wands drawn?"

The two Gryffindors stiffened.

"In self-defense, Ma'am," Peakes muttered awkwardly.

"You'd best stick to the truth. You're a terrible liar," Draco spat.

Proudfoot raised an eyebrow at him, but then her gaze turned to Harper. "And you? What can you tell me about it?"

"Nothing," he stated sullenly. "I was just leaving."

"These two were threatening him when I arrived," Draco bit out, glaring at Harper for good measure. "I was merely attempting to stop them."

"Is this true?" Proudfoot questioned.

"No," Harper shook his head, scowling.

Draco bristled. What was Harper playing at? "Ungrateful git."

Harper glared at him. "I don't need help from a blood traitor like you."

Draco stared at him, nonplussed.

"Enough," Proudfoot stated irritably. "Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Go back to your dormitories. All of you."

The others stared at her incredulously.

"Now!" she barked. "Or you lot are losing more than just House points."

The Gryffindors grumbled but obeyed, and Harper trudged after them at a distance, glaring back at Draco for good measure. Draco scowled at him and made to move, but Proudfoot still held his wrist in an iron grip.

"You're coming with me," she informed him. "Now's as good a time as any to serve your detention."

She dropped his wrist and turned back the way she'd come, clearly expecting him to follow. Draco glared at her back, but trudged after her all the same. The portraits watched him as he passed, along with the occasional student who hadn't yet made it to the Great Hall. Draco sullenly ignored them all. So much for practicing his Patronus. He only had three days before the next Animagus lesson, and so far, he hadn't produced anything more substantial than a pulsing mist.

Proudfoot's office was Spartan, to say the least. There was an empty desk, a wooden chair and a series of gauzy gothic windows. The room was mostly lit by a crackling fire in the fireplace, with a few torches flickering in the darkest corners. Proudfoot sat down in the only available chair and conjured another equally forbidding chair on the other side of the desk. She watched him until he sat, her thin lips pulled into a grim line.

"The Headmistress tells me you've procured a wand that works."

Draco nodded, transforming his expression into a cold mask to cover how anxious he was.

"Good," she stated, her eyes shining in the fire light as she sat forward. "That was quite the show you put on last week. I hope there won't be a repeat performance."

"There won't be," Draco muttered.

She surveyed him critically. "If that had happened in Auror basic training, you would have been expelled from the program, but the Headmistress convinced me that, in your case, there were extenuating circumstances. It helped that none of your class mates were killed."

Draco stared at her and she held his gaze for a long moment before getting up. She stepped around the desk until she was beside him, leaning against the desk top and crossing her arms. She looked down at him and raised a thin eyebrow. "So here we are. What should I do with you?"

Draco didn't reply. He was certain the question was rhetorical. She stared at him, her expression calculating. Most likely she was thinking up the most gruesome forms of punishment imaginable. She seemed the type to enjoy that sort of thing, and Draco would know, he'd been around quite a few of that type.

"I would have you clean my office," she finally stated thoughtfully with a smirk. "But as you can see, there is hardly anything to clean. So, what can you do for me?"

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. What was this woman playing at? Inviting him to serve detention and having nothing to punish him with, and now she was asking him his opinion on the matter. She was absolutely mad. However, she raised an eyebrow impatiently at his silence, and he was forced to reply. "I can't think of anything, Professor."

"So, you're completely useless then," she observed. "Hardly shocking."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, his cool mask breaking. "I'm hardly useless."

"Prove it then," she ordered, and stepped away from the desk, drawing her wand and pointing it at him. "Let me see what you can do."

Draco stiffened, bemused, but she merely waited for him, her eyes hard and challenging. Left with no choice, he stood up and drew his wand.

"Good," she smirked. "Now do your best to block."

That was the only warning he had before she stepped forward and swished her wand in a broad arc. Draco pulled his wand up and shouted Protego just in time to block a blast of icicles. The shards of ice crumbled just inches from his face and he was left gasping for breath, his heart in his throat. She didn't wait for him to recover before she attacked again, this time with fire. Draco dodged it this time, rolling across the floor, but he slipped in a pool of melted ice. He barely had enough time to stand back up before his wand was ripped out of his hand, and Proudfoot's wand tip was pressing against his jugular.

She stepped away and sheathed her wand, twirling his in her hand. "It's a wonder you survived the war."

Draco scowled and pushed away from the wall. Sweat trickled down his jaw. "You're mad."

"You're dead," she rejoined. "I've killed you, and you could do nothing about it."

She tossed his wand back and he caught it, frowning.

"Again," she commanded.

He barely erected a shield before her hex reached him. It ricocheted through a window, splintering the glass. Proudfoot repaired the glass with a flick and dodged Draco's Impedimentia at the same time. Draco barely had time to think before a red flash filled his vision. He dropped to the ground, just narrowly missing the curse. He shot a Stupefy at her, but her shield blocked it and sent it careening back at him. He was forced to dodge and lost his footing, but he saw her ready another curse and he erected a shield just in time. When the smoke cleared, however, she wasn't there, and the next moment, he felt something pressing into his neck.

"Dead," Proudfoot declared from behind him.

He turned around, breathing heavily, every muscle in his body already aching. She stood before him, completely composed, not a hair out of place.

"You lasted longer that time, but the result was the same," she stated. "You've been murdered twice in the last five minutes."

"I'm not an Auror," Draco retorted.

"No, that much is clear," she replied.

"What do you want from me?" Draco questioned.

She smirked. "I want you to defend yourself."

Draco cursed. He knew to erect a shield charm just before she sent a hex his way, and he dodged before the shield had disappeared, then spun around and sent his own curse at her. Smoke curled out of her wand and she disappeared into the cloud, but he was ready this time. He dropped and turned around, pushing the tip of his wand into her stomach.

"Dead," he wheezed, completely out of breath.

"Very good, Malfoy."

He looked up to see her smirking down at him. She stepped back and he gingerly pushed himself to his feet.

"You learn quickly for a Slytherin."

"It's not intelligence Slytherins lack," Draco informed her breathlessly, itching to hold the stitch in his side, but abstaining from looking weaker than he was. "It's the bravery and nobility we do without."

She smiled. "Well, I've never had too much trouble in that regard."

"What do you mean?" Draco questioned suspiciously.

"I used to be in Slytherin," she replied. "Frankly, I thought that was obvious."

Draco's eyes widened.

"Hardly," he muttered, his mouth suddenly dry. "I pegged you for a Gryffindor."

Proudfoot chuckled, appearing to relax. "I'm an Auror, lad. I'm trained to be brave, noble and true. I've acquired some quintessentially Gryffindor traits, I must admit, but in the world outside Hogwarts, witches and wizards are more than just Slytherins, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs. You of all people should understand that."

Draco stared at her, completely nonplussed. His image of her was shattering all around him. She didn't fit into a neat little box and it disconcerted him. "If you were in Slytherin, why did you join the Aurors?"

She frowned. "I made a choice. I'm not the only one. There are other Slytherins who went on into law enforcement, although it's true that a majority of them have not. I've never quite understood that, actually."

"I can't imagine the Auror Department accepting any Slytherins now," Draco muttered.

She stared at him for a moment, the wheels practically turning in her head. It made Draco wary. "I think I've figured out how your detentions will be spent this term, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Training." She smirked, and Draco hurriedly raised his wand.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................

Draco was still on the common room couch at half past midnight when Potter stepped through the portal.

"What happened to you? You look like you've wrestled a troll."

Draco glanced at Potter, who sat down beside him, looking concerned. Draco was sure he looked a mess. He hadn't even showered yet.

"She's an absolute mad woman," Draco complained.

"Who is?"

"Proudfoot," Draco moaned tiredly. "I had to serve my first detention."

"I thought you were going to practice your Patronus."

"I was," Draco replied, sitting back on the couch and resting his forearm over his eyes. "But it all went pear-shaped when she caught me in the hall."

"And she beat you up?" Potter questioned bemusedly.

Draco glanced at him from beneath his wrist. "She calls it training."

"Training," Potter repeated incredulously. "For what?"

"For the end of the world," Draco quipped. "Or at least, that's how it felt. I suspect I've strained muscles I hadn't even known I had."

Potter smiled and poked a particularly tender spot on Draco's upper arm. "Want me to heal those bruises?"

Draco raised his arm and frowned at him. "Since when did you know how to heal?"

"Since I got tired of going to the Infirmary," Potter replied dryly.

Draco narrowed his eyes.

Potter rolled his.

"Fine, Potter," Draco stated with forced reluctance. "But don't misplace anything. I like my body parts where they are."

Potter just sighed and pulled Draco's hand into his lap. Draco blanched, but Potter wasn't looking at him. His focus was on his arm, where a trail of darkening bruises marred the pale skin. Potter placed the tip of his wand against each tender spot and whispered the charm. They both watched as the swelling went down, but Draco found it hard to relax.

"Do you have any more?" Potter muttered.

"What?" Draco questioned blearily, completely distracted by Potter's proximity.

"Bruises," Potter clarified, looking back up at his face. "Do you have them anywhere else?"

"Er…I'm not sure," Draco stuttered. He had them all over, in fact, but he wasn't sure it was a good idea to disclose that fact. "My back is a bit tetchy."

"Turn around," Potter instructed.

Draco stared at him.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "You don't want to sleep on it, do you?"

Draco turned around and stiffened when cool hands slid up beneath his shirt. His skin tingled in their wake. Potter raised the cloth and hissed.

"Given your reaction," Draco observed shakily. "I suspect there's a snake on my back."

Potter chuckled. "No, but it's certainly a mess back here. One would think Proudfoot had something against you."

"That would be shocking," Draco stated wryly. "So what's the prognosis, Healer? Is it a lost cause?"

"No," Potter replied. "There's just a lot of bruising."

Calloused fingers pressed against a particularly sore spot and Draco gasped.

"Sorry," Potter mumbled distractedly.

His hands swept down Draco's spine, and Draco blushed. "Potter?"

"Just a second," Potter replied. "Okay."

Draco heard him mutter the charm and warmth spread over his back before receding, leaving the flesh cooler than before.

"There," Potter stated. "Good as new."

Potter pulled his shirt back down and Draco let out a quiet breath. When he sat back against the couch cushions, his back muscles finally unwound.

"Better?" Potter asked, pocketing his wand.

"It's acceptable," Draco allowed.

"Prat," Potter accused, but he was smiling.

They stared into the crackling fire for a long moment in companionable silence. Draco's spine tingled where Potter had caressed it. He wondered if there was anything to the action, before he banished the thought. Of course there wasn't. He was just being stupid. Potter had just come back from a date with his girlfriend, after all. He didn't even appear affected in the least by Draco's presence. He just looked tired.

"How was your date?" Draco heard himself ask, and then cursed himself for his masochistic curiosity.

Potter blinked and glanced at him. "It was alright."

"Sounds positively thrilling," Draco observed.

Potter pushed a hand through his hair and sat back on the couch. His eyes were hidden by the reflection of the flames dancing on his glasses. "I still don't really…"

Potter shook his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "I don't know."

Draco stared, and Potter finally glanced back at him, his gaze distant and vaguely haunted.

Potter sighed and got to his feet. "I'm knackered."

Draco nodded slowly. "Alright."

"Goodnight," Potter mumbled, before he turned and made his way up the stairs.

"Goodnight," Draco replied when Potter was too far away to hear him.

Draco sighed and stared into the flames for a long while before he finally got up himself. But just before he made it to the stairs, something stopped him and he closed his eyes. He gripped his wand and said the words, remembering Potter's calloused fingers grazing his skin. When he opened his eyes, something stared back at him before dissolving into the mist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting. I love reading what you guys think. ;)


	11. That is Buried so Deep

Draco exited the library after a late night of studying. It was past curfew for the younger years and the halls were left empty. Only the sound of the flickering torches and his muffled footsteps kept him company. It was disturbing actually. It reminded him of the Manor when Voldemort was in residence. There was a wet chill to the air and all of the unnaturally long shadows moved in the flickering light in a manner that made them seem alive.

He hastened his steps, keen to get back to the tower where he could ignore the disquieting memories, but something crashed loudly behind him and he whirled around. He gripped the wand in his pocket and strained his eyes into the darkness, but there was nothing there. Cursing his nerves, Draco turned back around. And stopped.

There, at the end of the hall, was a pulsing blue glow. He strained his ears, but it was so quiet the silence practically pressed against his ear drums.

He stood there indecisively as the glow grew brighter and brighter. Whatever had cast it was getting closer, and Draco knew it would be smartest to escape, but he couldn't look away. There was something familiar about it. He pulled out his wand, and soon enough, a glowing being stepped around the corner and stared at him.

"Potter?" Draco breathed.

Potter's Patronus watched him and sniffed the air, then cocked it's head back and let out a silent howl. Draco stared at it, something telling him he should tread lightly unless he startled it, but it only gazed back at him for a moment before it turned around and fled.

Draco cursed and ran after it, following the eerie glow it cast upon the walls as it flew through the corridor. Potter couldn't be far. "Potter!"

The Patronus was fast, just a pinprick in the distance, and Draco struggled to keep up. He wheeled around a couple corners, skidding on the stone, just in time to spot its glowing tail slipping through a door at the end of the hall.

Draco stepped up to it, panting with exertion, and examined the intricate inlay. He had never seen a door like it before. It was carved marble, depicting several scenes and framed in a complex network of carved branches. There was a large stag in the middle, ringed by various other animals; a dog, a wolf, a rat, two doe, and a phoenix. There were others, but they were smaller, populating a vast woodland scene. Staring into its depths, Draco got the disturbing impression that if he'd wanted to, he could walk right into it. A howl echoed from the other side of the door and Draco ripped his gaze away to look down. A thick fog was leaking from the crack beneath, engulfing his shoes. Draco stepped back reflexively and the door shuddered open, revealing a long sliver of bright white light.

Cautiously, Draco gripped the handle and pulled. He had to close his eyes against the light, but the next moment he squinted them open, he was surrounded by a vast, white nothingness. Alarmed, he glanced back and found that the door was no longer there. He bit his lip, turning around to take in the expanse. It was oppressively silent, except for the beating of his own heart, loud in his ears. Although, he thought he could hear the whistle of a train in the distance.

"Potter?" He called out, and a mournful howl answered.

Draco followed the sound, first walking and then picking up his pace into a jog. Vague silhouettes materialized all around him, and he could hear voices, but the words were unintelligible. Gripping his wand like a lifeline, Draco sped up into a run. He could hear the intermittent howls of the wolf louder and louder until he was sure he must be just on top of it. Then off in the distance he saw something. It was large and black, so black it seemed to absorb the light around it, but its eyes were different. They were a bright emerald green.

"Potter?" Draco whispered. No, it couldn't be, Potter hadn't achieved his Animagus form yet. He couldn't have, but somehow he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. This was Potter. The wolf only stared at him with those familiar green eyes, the long fur of its neck and body blowing in a nonexistent breeze. Draco stepped forward, uncertain, and the wolf howled again. He barely had a chance to blink before it took off in the opposite direction.

Draco tore after it, somehow certain that he should. The wolf was large and fast and it was tough to keep up with it, especially when he couldn't see what must be a hard, invisible floor beneath his feet.

The ground changed abruptly and he tripped on an upraised root, barely avoiding a nasty fall, only to narrowly avoid stumbling over a rock. He was trundling through a forest now, the grass wet with dew as sunshine filtered through the canopy above. The wolf was much more limber in the underbrush and Draco struggled to keep up. He ripped through sharp branches and jumped over logs, gulping in as much oxygen as he could through his open mouth.

The wolf disappeared, and he panicked, falling into an open glen. He hit the ground and panted shallowly, his nose in the grass, before he managed to roll over. He stared up at the sun shining through the trees, until he managed to gingerly stand up. He had no idea where the wolf had gone or where it had led him.

He brushed some debris off his pant leg. Then turned around, and his breath caught. There in the middle of the glen and bathed in sunlight, was a large, stone coffin. The outside was intricately carved with the images of what looked to be phoenixes, and he could just see a panel of the inside from where he stood. It was padded with a deep crimson silk.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco stepped forward anxiously, and the moment the toe of one of his shoes met the side of the coffin, he looked down and stopped breathing entirely. Potter was lying within, his face unnaturally pale. His clothes were tattered and dirty as if he'd just fought in a battle, but his visible skin was unmarked. His hands were folded gently across his chest, his long dark eyelashes still and resting upon his bone-white cheeks. He looked asleep, but for the pallor of his skin and lips and the stillness of his chest.

Draco gripped the edge of the coffin, horror and disbelief welling up inside him. It was all he could do to keep standing as his legs wobbled threateningly.

But he knew Potter was alive. He had survived the final battle and killed the Dark Lord. He'd seen Potter walking and talking and there, in the flesh. He had heard Potter's voice, felt the warmth of Potter's touch. He couldn't be dead.

"Harry," Draco uttered, his voice breaking.

Unexpectedly, Potter's eyes snapped open, his deathly cold hand shooting out to grab Draco's arm in a vice-like grip.

Draco jumped, shouting in alarm, and his eyes opened.

He stared up at the ceiling above his four-poster, panting shallowly, panic racing through his veins. It was raining again, the drops beating against the windows and casting their shadows along the ceiling. He heard a rustling beyond his curtains.

"Alright, Draco?"

Draco sat up and pushed a hand through his sweaty hair, taking in a deep breath. His curtains opened from the outside and Potter stuck his head in, looking concerned. Draco stared at him, taking in the healthy color of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest. Potter was halfway into a shirt. He had obviously been dressing. Potter's eyebrows knit worriedly the longer he stared, and Draco ripped his gaze away.

"Nightmare?" Potter muttered.

Draco shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, keen to cover his bare torso now that he was more awake. "Just a strange dream."

Potter nodded slowly. "Are you getting up? Everyone's already gone down."

"What time is it?"

"8 o'clock," Potter replied.

Draco cursed, he hadn't realized it was so late. "Give me a moment."

Potter nodded and stepped away. Draco pulled his curtains all the way open and pulled his wand out from beneath his pillow. Potter finished getting dressed as Draco attempted a mild cleaning charm on his greasy hair.

"I'll be down in the common room," Potter informed him, and Draco nodded.

The moment Potter was gone, Draco changed and did his best to push the image of Potter in a coffin out of his mind. He wouldn't be able to hold down his breakfast otherwise.

They made it to the Great Hall just as a large number of younger students were leaving, although most of the Eighth Years were still lounging about their table, experienced enough to know just how long they could dawdle and still be on time for lessons. Potter sat down in his usual seat across from Weasley, and Draco sat beside him across from Granger. Draco ignored the usual looks of distaste he received from the occupants at the other end of the table.

Granger glanced up from her book as Draco reached for the most benign foodstuff he could find, some plain toast. "How is your Patronus coming along? Any progress?"

Until that moment, Draco had completely forgotten his discovery the night before. He smirked and nodded. "I saw something in the mist this time."

"Really?" Potter questioned. "You never told me that."

"It only happened last night," Draco replied, buttering his toast. He reached for the coffee, but then thought better of it. His stomach was still a bit tetchy. "After you left."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "So what did it look like?"

Draco frowned. "I couldn't tell. I only saw a face, or rather, what looked to be two eyes staring back at me, and then it was gone."

"You probably didn't concentrate long enough on your memory," Granger observed. "But that certainly is an improvement."

"But he's only got two days before next lesson," Weasley pointed out unhelpfully. "And he's still got to research the animal and write that essay, right? I'd be worried."

"Thanks for your concern, Weasley," Draco muttered sardonically.

"Any time," he smiled menacingly, his cheeks full of eggs and gravy.

Draco's stomach churned at the sight and he had to look away.

"That's enough time," Granger insisted, sparing an exasperated look for her boyfriend. "We're exempt from curfew so you can spend all night in the library if you have to."

"Brilliant," Draco muttered humorlessly.

She sent him a look. "And here Harry's been telling me how much you like to study."

Draco raised an accusing brow at Potter, who had the grace to look sheepish.

"I don't _like_ studying, Granger," Draco corrected. "I just do it more than these two."

Granger smiled. "Everyone does it more than these two."

Potter frowned.

"Hey!" Weasley objected. "I study!"

"It doesn't count when your girlfriend makes you," Draco informed him with a smirk.

"Says who?" Weasley growled.

"Alright, alright," Granger interrupted, putting a hand on Weasley's arm. "You do study, Ron. That was unfair of me. You've gotten a lot better about it."

Weasley stared at her suspiciously, before sharing a look with Potter. "I think she's mocking us."

"Probably," Potter shrugged, looking unconcerned. "Let's face it, Ron. Studying has never been our strong point."

Draco smirked, Granger smiled, and Weasley scowled, muttering something about traitors under his breath.

"Oi, Malfoy?"

Draco raised his eyebrow at Longbottom questioningly.

Longbottom smiled at him. "Could you pass the blueberry jelly?"

Draco nodded and handed it over.

Longbottom took it gratefully. "Good luck with your Patronus, by the way. It's tough, but it seems you're almost there. Can't be long now."

Draco stared at him, nonplussed. "Er…thanks, Longbottom."

Longbottom shrugged awkwardly and turned back to his new girlfriend.

Draco took a bite of his toast. He could feel people watching him from all about the room, but he ignored them. He was sure various interested parties were currently planning his untimely demise, but he couldn't quite give a toss. His odd panic over the dream he'd had that morning was receding, bolstered by the fact that Potter was currently alive and whole beside him, smiling indulgently with Granger at Weasley's expense. Even the Weaslette was notably absent from the Hall. So he didn't have to worry about her popping in unexpectedly to steal Potter's attention. Despite the residual ache throughout his body from his detention with Proudfoot, this morning was going well, and he felt content. He wasn't even concerned about their DADA lesson. Nothing Proudfoot threw at him today could be worse than what she had subjected him to last night.

She was already there when they arrived for the lesson, watching them stonily as she leaned against her desk. Draco followed Potter into the middle of the room, just behind their classmates. Granger and Weasley stopped on Potter's other side. Apparently, they were the last to arrive.

Proudfoot raised an eyebrow. "No stragglers today, I see. Good." She stepped forward and surveyed them all critically. "Given the utter disaster that was our last lesson, you will be forced to repeat it. You all must be evaluated before I can tailor a proper curriculum for this course. So, you will all duel an assigned partner in front of your peers. Although from now on, if any of you knowingly duel with a dysfunctional wand, you will be expelled from this course."

Her eyes fell upon Draco and a fair number of his classmates glanced back at him. Draco did his best to appear aloof, even as Finnigan smirked.

"Malfoy and Potter," she announced. "I would like you two to repeat your performance, but please kindly refrain from burning us all alive."

Some of the Eighth Years chuckled uncomfortably at that, but a majority of them appeared anxious as they spread out into a circle. Weasley, in particular, was watching Draco with suspicion, but Granger appeared wholly unconcerned.

Draco shared a look with Potter, and Potter shrugged. "We'd better do as she says."

"Somehow, I liked you better when you disobeyed authority figures," Draco muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Really? I liked you less."

"I never disobeyed anyone."

Potter stared at him.

"Well, not openly," Draco amended.

Potter just shook his head in exasperation. Smirking, Draco followed him into the circle to face him.

"Don't hold back, Potter," Draco warned.

"Wasn't planning to," Potter replied easily, taking out his wand.

Draco did the same and the rest of his classmates stepped back nervously.

But Proudfoot flicked her wand and a shimmering ward ballooned around him and Potter, separating them from the innocent bystanders.

"Just a necessary precaution," she explained. "Don't want anyone hurt… _much_."

She smirked, and the Eighth Years glanced at each other uncomfortably. Draco really couldn't see now how he had ever thought she'd been in Gryffindor. She enjoyed playing with people's minds a bit too much.

"It's no wonder she was in Slytherin," Draco muttered just loud enough for Potter to hear over the light buzz of the wards as Proudfoot stepped around, inspecting her creation from the outside.

"She was?" Potter questioned, and Draco nodded. Potter looked thoughtful. "Well, I'd had my suspicions."

"Really?" Draco questioned incredulously. "But she's an Auror. I'd always suspected she was in Gryffindor."

"I suppose," Potter replied thoughtfully. "She could be a bit of both. I mean, the sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I refused."

"What?" Draco uttered incredulously.

"Wands at the ready?" Proudfoot interrupted.

Potter nodded and Draco closed his mouth, deciding he'd have to grill Potter about his pronouncement later. Proudfoot smiled approvingly. "Start!"

Draco didn't wait to make the first shot, sending a stupefy straight at Potter, but Potter didn't even bat an eyelash. He was ready, erecting a shield charm just in time. He knocked the curse into the ward with a sharp sizzle, before flicking his wand in reply. A loud roar of approval traveled through the wards from their audience, but Draco dodged the curse, just barely, as it sailed past his ear. Then he stepped forward and cast an expelliarmus. Potter dropped and rolled and Draco barely had time to put his wand up before a blast of orange fire came at him. Draco erected an icy wall just in time, and it melted around his feet, extinguishing the fire with it. But Potter had disappeared in the interim.

With an odd sense of déjà vu, Draco stiffened before turning around, and Potter was there, pointing his wand at Draco's face, but Draco dropped and rolled just in time to avoid the blast. Potter pursued him, but the moment Draco stood back up, Potter slipped on the pool of water, and struggled to regain his footing. Sensing his chance, Draco shot a full-body bind at him and Potter collapsed back to the ground in a tangle of rope. A majority of their classmates booed, but Draco ignored them, smirking down at his handiwork. Potter continued to struggle futilely, his face against the floor.

"You're dead, Potter," Draco stated, before pushing Potter onto his back with his foot.

But the moment he did so, he realized that was a mistake. Potter's hand was free and pointing his wand straight up at him.

His green eyes flashed triumphantly. "Rictusempra!"

Draco had no time to avoid the blast and he was knocked back against the ward, suddenly overtaken by a fit of giggles. His entire body tingled uncomfortably and he could barely keep his watery eyes open, until Potter was standing over him.

The Eighth Years clapped and wolf-whistled in approval, the sound barely muffled through the buzz of the ward.

Potter smiled. "I can't die, remember?"

Draco struggled to hold in his incongruous laughter, his body twitching, and he glared up at him as best he could. "That…is highly…unfair."

Then he kicked out and caught Potter by the ankle, sending him down with a yelp of dismay. Potter landed hard just beside him.

"Ouch," Potter complained, glaring at him. " _That_ was unfair."

Draco laughed, voluntarily and involuntarily all at once. "Nothing's fair…in love and war…Potter."

Suddenly, Draco stiffened and not just because of the charm. He hadn't exactly meant to say that. Potter sent him an odd look, but he didn't comment. Draco could only hope he hadn't taken it literally.

The wards fell with a crackle, and Proudfoot stepped in, waving her wand. Draco instantly stopped twitching uncontrollably, as the tickling charm mercifully lifted.

"That was passable," Proudfoot critiqued dryly. "Certainly an improvement on last lesson. You two are free to join your classmates."

Draco sat up, his body aching more than it had that morning, and he accepted Potter's hand gratefully.

"That was a cheap trick," Potter muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they made their way over to Granger and Weasley. "My bum is going to hurt for a week."

Draco had something to say to that, but he bit his tongue. That would be inappropriate, and so would thinking about other ways Draco could make Potter's bum ache. Shaking his head, he stated, "One has to be resourceful in a duel against a wizard who can't die. You know that as well as I do, Potter."

"Cheeky git," Potter accused, but he was smiling.

"As far as I'm concerned," Weasley commented once Potter was standing beside him, and clapped him on the back. "You won, Harry."

"It seemed a draw to me," Granger observed, which earned her a disbelieving scowl from her boyfriend. She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. If that had been a real duel to the death, we wouldn't be able to predict the outcome. Both Harry and Draco used surprise attacks to their advantage."

"Underhanded attacks," Weasley muttered. "What sort of wizard kicks his opponent in the ankle?"

"A wizard who wants to win," Draco sneered. "It's a means to an end."

"Is that how you justified cursing Katie and poisoning me?"

Draco stiffened.

Granger's eyes widened, her expression stricken as she stared at her boyfriend, and Potter shifted uneasily. Weasley grimly held Draco's gaze.

"That wasn't meant for you," Draco replied hoarsely into the tense silence.

"No," Weasley muttered. "It was only a means to an end, right?"

Draco tensed, balling his hands into fists, but he couldn't say anything. That felt like a lifetime ago; one where he was stupid and desperate and cruel. He hadn't cared about the innocent bystanders by that point, as long as he and his family survived. And in the end, he hadn't even been able to finish what he'd started.

Granger placed a hand on Weasley's shoulder, and Potter sighed. "Ron…"

Weasley glanced at Potter's beseeching expression before putting up his hands. "Fine. Defend him if you like, but that won't convince anyone else. Malfoy's not exactly popular these days. Not everyone can forgive and forget so easily."

Draco narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Weasley turned his scowl back on him. "I'm still not convinced that they should."

Draco's glare turned cold. He hoped Weasley's dueling opponent horribly disfigured him.

Potter's frown grew, but he didn't say anything either. He glanced at Draco, but Draco just looked away towards the middle of the room as the next duelers entered the circle. He didn't want to see anything resembling pity in his eyes.

Padma Patil and Su Li dueled and were followed by Thomas and Finnigan. Draco's sour mood picked up considerably when Thomas threw a hex that grew tentacles out of Finnigan's nostrils, and beat him soundly. It was pathetic, really. Draco had to smirk, and he clapped particularly enthusiastically when that duel was over. Smith was almost as bad when it was his turn up. Corner shot a jelly legs jinx at him that had him flopping to the ground like a ragdoll.

But Draco tensed with anticipation when Weasley went up against Granger. Granger was arguably the more talented of the two in terms of creativity, but Weasley held his own for far longer than Draco would have liked. In fact, Weasley nearly bested her on several occasions, and by the end, Draco was biting his much-abused bottom lip and egging Granger on. Even Potter seemed tense when Granger finally pulled out the win, wrapping the Weasel up in two conjured boa constrictors. Draco let out a long breath and smirked when the Weasel trudged back behind his girlfriend.

"Not a word, Malfoy," Weasley warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco drawled humorlessly.

Granger just sent Draco a quelling look, but he nodded to her politely. "Well done, Granger."

"It was nothing," she replied primly.

"Of course," Draco agreed, and smirked at Weasley again.

Weasley glared at him, until Potter put a hand on his back. "I liked what you did with the orange smoke."

"Thanks, yeah," Weasley relaxed somewhat, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "George invented that and taught it to me after I agreed to be his test subject over the summer."

"Has he opened the shop yet?"

"Yeah, it's taken a bit what with…everything," Weasley grimaced uncomfortably. "But I just got a letter from mum that it's back open."

"That's good," Potter muttered. "We should visit him. I need more skiving snack boxes."

"You and me both, mate," Weasley smiled.

Discomfited by their conversation, Draco looked away and tuned them out as best he could until the next duel started between Longbottom and Abbott. Neither of them were terrible, actually. Abbott, in particular, shot a fair few hexes that Draco had never seen before.

Once everyone had dueled, Proudfoot dissolved the ward and stepped into the middle of the room.

"That wasn't particularly horrendous," she commented wryly. "Some of you certainly need more work than others." Her gaze fell quite pointedly upon Finnigan and Draco smirked evilly. "But you're not completely hopeless."

She swished her wand and a piece of chalk hovered over the blackboard and wrote something out.

"Read these pages in your textbooks for next lesson, and be prepared," she smiled predatorily. "Dismissed."

"One hundred pages? That woman's mad!" Weasley complained the moment they'd exited the classroom, he and Granger trailing just behind Draco and Potter.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Granger disagreed, placing her quill back in her ear, which was a sure sign she was on her way to the library.

"For you," Weasley opined. "What about for the rest of us who choose to live outside of the library?"

"I don't live in the library," Granger retorted.

"Hermione, you practically sleep there most nights," Weasley informed her. "And here I thought this year was going to be different!"

Granger frowned. "I don't know why you thought so."

"You don't know…" Weasley blustered disbelievingly. "Well, for one thing, I thought we'd be spending more time together as we are boyfriend and girlfriend."

"But school is more important than all that!" Granger replied, actually appearing shocked that Weasley could think otherwise.

"School is more important…" Weasley repeated incredulously, actually looking hurt.

"Oh, Ron," Granger sighed softly. "I didn't mean it like that."

They fell back and Potter and Draco kept on walking.

"Best get away before they start snogging," Potter advised.

"Yes, that would be best," Draco agreed readily. "What Granger sees in the Weasel, I will never know."

"Ron's a good bloke," Potter insisted as they both pushed their way through a crowd of students exiting the charms classroom. "Even if he doesn't act it sometimes. What he said in there…that wasn't –"

"Save it, Potter," Draco interrupted, then he rubbed the bridge of his nose and slowed down, not daring to look back at him. It cost him a lot to admit this, even to himself. "I deserved it. You and I both know that."

Potter opened his mouth and then closed it, his expression unreadable, and Draco looked away.

"And besides, even if Weasley was a good bloke," Draco continued. "He's hardly fit. I couldn't snog that freckled mug if you threatened me with Veritaserum."

Potter nodded slowly. "Not to mention he's a bloke."

"Well," Draco stopped, realizing what he was about to divulge. Potter glanced at him questioningly, and Draco chewed his lip, wondering what the harm would be, really, after everything he'd already said. It's not as if he was outright confessing. He took a deep breath and the words spilled out. "Well, that's hardly an issue for me."

Potter stopped, and Draco was forced to turn back to look at him. "What?"

Draco steeled himself, doing his best to appear amused. "Come on, Potter. It's not that surprising, is it?"

Potter frowned, appearing thoughtful, and Draco's heart raced in his chest. "No, I suppose not…but I thought you were with Parkinson."

"That was more of an…arrangement," Draco stated cautiously. "To keep appearances."

"Hm," Potter murmured, a group of Ravenclaws passed by them, glancing at them curiously, but Potter just ignored them. "But you said you and Parkinson had…"

"More or less," Draco admitted. He could feel his traitorous face heating. "Let's just say it didn't end well."

Potter stared at him for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other. "So, no one else knew?"

"Not really," Draco shrugged awkwardly. "It's not the sort of thing that one brings up in conversation."

Potter frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose not."

"That doesn't…" Draco paused uncomfortably. "Bother you or anything, does it?"

"What?" Potter questioned. "No! No, I was just…surprised. That's all." Potter smiled. "I didn't expect it."

"Good," Draco nodded awkwardly, before glancing behind him. "I think I'll go…practice my Patronus some more."

"Right," Potter nodded. "I'll join you. I think you've almost got it."

Draco stared at him, a bit shocked. "Alright."

They walked side by side again, but Draco felt more awkward than ever before as his thoughts raced back over the past five minutes. It was strange to have told Potter, when he hadn't actually told anyone else, not even his friends in Slytherin. It was still sort of new to him even, given how distracting and all-consuming the war had become just when he'd started to realize what his feelings meant. He felt a bit exposed now, but he supposed it could have been worse. Potter hadn't freaked out nor had he appeared disgusted, and now he was going with him to practice his Patronus as if everything was perfectly normal. He supposed it was.

But when they reached the Entrance Hall, they were intercepted by a group of Gryffindors, headed by the Weaslette. Draco tensed as she proceeded to ignore his existence and kissed Potter on the cheek. A number of the Gryffindors eyed Draco suspiciously and he glared back, not giving a toss about keeping appearances any more. It wouldn't make any difference to them anyway.

"Going to lunch, Harry?" the Weaslette questioned, pushing her hair out of her face and tying it up.

"Actually, no," Potter replied. "I promised Draco I'd help him with his Patronus."

"Ah," she uttered, finally glancing Draco's way and looking less than pleased. He stared back at her evenly, but when she looked back at Potter, her expression softened. "Ok."

She placed a hand on Potter's shoulder. "I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah," Potter agreed, and watched her as she walked off, her friends catching up with her on their way to the Great Hall. Potter glanced back at Draco with a half-smile. "Let's go."

The abandoned classroom was cleaner now, given how much they had used it the past few days. Shafts of sunlight streamed in through the window now that the clouds had cleared, making the room oddly inviting. Potter sat down on the large desk and Draco pulled out his wand.

"Want my Patronus to keep you company?" Potter asked with a slight smile.

"That won't be necessary," Draco replied. "Although maybe you should for its benefit. It seems quite attached to me."

"Something must be wrong with it," Potter concluded wryly.

"It has good taste," Draco retorted. "Unlike you."

Potter shook his head with amusement. "Are you going to cast or not?"

"I was just about to," Draco insisted irritably.

He closed his eyes and raised his wand. Memories flooded in, all of them involving Potter, especially the most recent ones. He could feel the contentment well inside of him. It was far easier to find now. The trick was channeling it. He'd almost done it the night before. He just had to capture it and hold it long enough. He tried to remember his happiest moments, Potter healing his back, dueling with him, telling the Weaslette he couldn't go with her because he needed to spend time with Draco. Draco smiled involuntarily, and he opened his mouth. Just before he said the words, he saw the large black wolf with the bright green eyes.

When he opened his eyes, something was staring back at him; a large canine something. Potter gasped, and Draco stared down in absolute shock at what he'd conjured. It was Potter's Patronus. But it wasn't. It was different somehow. Maybe a different size or shape, but it was staring at him in that same intense way, its ears pricked in interest, as if awaiting his command. He didn't say anything and the wolf sat back and howled silently, before sniffing about the room.

"Draco…you…" Potter uttered, his eyes wide.

The Patronus snapped its head up and stared at Potter, before sniffing the air and padding over to him. They both watched in awed silence as it mimicked nuzzling Potter's trouser leg. Potter looked back up at Draco, wide-eyed.

"Well, that's…unexpected," Draco stated lamely, which really, was a complete understatement.

He lowered his wand and the wolf disappeared, leaving them both staring silently at the place where it had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha so apparently some of you thought Proudfoot was coming on to Draco in that last chapter. So I re-read it and haha I can actually see why you'd think that. That's hilarious, because I'd never seen it in that light before. Whoops. Well...sadly, that's not the direction this fic is going to go, given that it's an HPDM fic, but it's great to know you guys apparently like Proudfoot enough to pair her with Draco. haha ah.
> 
> And finally, Draco's Patronus has been revealed. An imaginary, gluten-free cookie goes to all of those who guessed its form correctly!


	12. That You Can't Dig it Out of You

Draco sat down at the table for dinner and casually reached for some mince pie.

"Where's Harry?" Weasley questioned suspiciously, his mouth mercifully empty.

"With the Weasle –" Draco paused abruptly, and tried not to stab his food too harshly with his fork. "With your sister."

Granger looked up from her ever-present tome, and regarded him from across the table. "Any progress with your Patronus?"

Draco poured some pumpkin juice into his goblet and nodded vaguely. "I just have to write that essay now."

Weasley's eyebrows rose into his hairline and Granger smiled. "So, what is it?"

Draco pretended to ignore her and took a bite of his pie.

"It's a ferret, isn't it?" Weasley questioned gleefully.

Draco glared at him. "Sorry to disappoint, but no."

"What is it, then?" Weasley pressed.

"I hardly think that's any of your business," Draco snapped, before looking down and realizing he had been cutting his pie into a fine mush.

"I bet it's something ridiculous!" Weasley commented to Granger. "Like a newt."

"It's not a –" Draco shook his head and put down his cutlery, having lost his appetite. "Believe what you will."

He stood up and left the Great Hall, not entirely certain of his destination, but a moment later, when he was just about to climb a moving staircase, Granger caught up with him.

"Malfoy, wait."

Draco stopped and looked back over his shoulder irritably. "What do you want, Granger? I'm busy."

She raised an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that."

Draco turned back around. "Whatever."

"Draco."

He sighed. "What?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing," he denied.

"Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

Draco turned to stare back at her incredulously.

"Sorry, muggle expression," she explained, shaking her bushy head. She looked back at him tensely as if she expected him to lambast her for referencing muggles. He frowned, and her expression relaxed. "What I mean is, you don't look well."

"Good to know," Draco muttered sardonically. "I'll be sure to make a note of that in my journal."

Granger frowned. "Don't be such an arse."

"Then don't follow me around," Draco snapped irritably.

She stepped up to him, her expression determined. "What happened? Is it your Patronus? Was Harry with you?"

Draco stiffened. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious," she replied honestly.

Draco stared at her, and sneered, "Oh, well now I will certainly tell you everything."

He turned away, but she grabbed his arm. "Draco…wait…"

He stopped, and his voice turned cold. "You're touching me."

"Yes, I am," she replied challengingly. "I won't let go until you talk to me."

"I'll hex you."

"No, you won't."

Draco turned back and glared at her. She met it with an even glare of her own.

Draco scowled, but his will to resist deflated, and he suddenly felt tired. "What do you want?"

"To help," she replied.

"Why?" he sneered disbelievingly. "I spent my school career tormenting you and your friends, I willingly became a Death Eater because I believed in the Dark Lord's cause, I poisoned your boyfriend, or don't you remember his pronouncement earlier today?"

Granger surveyed him for a moment, before sighing. "Come with me to the library."

"What?" Draco questioned, nonplussed.

"You want to hear my answer, don't you?" she rejoined.

He stared at her, wide-eyed as she walked away. He shifted his weight from one foot to another uncertainly, but then he decided his curiosity far outweighed his desire to be left alone. He trudged after her at a distance, until they entered the library and she found a table near the back, in a secluded alcove. Various students stared at them as they walked past, but Draco ignored them. He sat down across from her, between two bookshelves and away from prying eyes.

Their only light source was a weak and flickering torch in the wall and it made Granger's brown eyes glow like two pinpricks in the dark. She folded her hands on the table and stared at him as books floated silently between the shelves behind her.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, which only made him more irritable. "Are you going to tell me now or did you simply lure me here to stare at me in the torchlight? I admit I'm quite pleasing to look at, but you're not my type."

Granger rolled her eyes and sat straight-backed in her chair. "I'm quite aware of that."

Draco's raised a brow, but she didn't elaborate.

"You asked me why I want to help you," she began. "And the answer is simple, because I want to help Harry."

"How does that have anything –?"

"I'm getting to that," Granger interrupted exasperatedly, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Draco closed his mouth and her gaze turned introspective. "After the battle, Harry wasn't the same. At first, I thought he was just tired. We all were, after all, and he had been through a terrible ordeal. But then, as the weeks passed, and we recovered at the Burrow, Harry didn't change. He had become distant, introspective, oddly aloof, and his eyes…you've seen it haven't you?"

Draco nodded slowly, remembering Potter in the wreckage of the Great Hall, gazing at something far in the distance that no one else could see as the crowd engulfed him in a cacophony of praise and relief.

"It was as if he had lost a piece of himself," Granger continued. "The part that made him Harry; and I began to worry. We all did, in our own way. You knew Harry from before, growing up at Hogwarts. He could never hide his emotions. He was quick to anger and self-righteous indignation, but he was passionate. Some would say that was his weakness, but in a lot of ways, it was also his greatest strength. When he lost someone, he hurt deeply, because he loved deeply. But he was never one to run away. He faced every one of his demons, inside and out, and Voldemort could never possess him. But that Harry wasn't there anymore. I looked into his eyes, and sometimes I couldn't even recognize him.

"He denied it, of course. He insisted he was the same; that we should stop worrying about him, but we knew something was wrong. Harry has always tended to hide his problems. I suspect he doesn't want to be a burden, even now. He's never liked being seen as someone who can't take care of himself, even when those who love him only want to help. So you can imagine our difficulty in this instance. We had to accept his word or risk alienating him."

Draco stared at her as she looked down at her hands, clearly fighting a well of emotion. He remembered the Weaslette's words to Potter in the Infirmary with increased understanding. It sounded as though Potter's friends had suffered quite the crisis, in the midst of the media storm that had followed the war. Honestly, he was surprised the Prophet had never figured it out. There had been speculation about the Savior's future prospects, and the occasional jibe to his mental state by Rita Skeeter, but they had failed to uncover what could have been the biggest story of all. He regarded Granger with newfound respect. During the Summer, she had often acted as the voice of the trio for official statements to the Prophet. She had always been curt and to the point, adeptly shutting down reporters who overstepped their bounds. It must have been a trial to protect Potter's privacy as well as they had.

Draco shifted in his seat. "What does this have to do with me?"

Granger took in a breath and looked up at him steadily. "We had almost lost hope that he would ever be the same. Our last gambol was to come back to Hogwarts. We thought that maybe if Harry returned, he would be forced to face the past, that maybe it would jolt him into feeling again. I wasn't entirely optimistic, but it was the only thing we could think of, and at the very least, we thought it might be best to finish our education."

Draco was certain Granger had been the sole instigator of that sentiment, but he didn't comment.

"So we returned to Hogwarts," Granger stated. "But Harry didn't react in any way, and while I had known that if anything were to change him, it wouldn't happen overnight, it was still disheartening. Ron and I decided to leave him alone. Harry had always been a private person. We thought that maybe taking some time to tour the grounds on his own would be best for him. Maybe he needed to pay his respects to the castle on his own terms."

Draco had a sudden memory of the distant pinprick of Potter standing in the wand light beside Dumbledore's tomb, before he crumpled against the stone, fading into the darkness.

"I'll admit, I didn't have much hope," Granger admitted. "But then, the second night…we saw him with you, and he was different."

Draco stiffened, his eyes widening a bit.

"He was laughing," Granger stated, her voice wobbling a bit. "We hadn't heard him laugh since just before the end of the war, but somehow, you managed to make him do it. You can't know how…" She paused, her voice breaking, and she swallowed, attempting to collect herself. "We were shocked, and grateful, and overwhelmed. You had managed to do what we hadn't managed in three months."

Draco stared at her, taking in the enormity of her confession. It felt as if something large and warm was expanding in his chest and leaving him lightheaded. He hadn't realized he'd done anything of the sort. He hadn't realized Potter had ever been worse than he had been when Draco had accidentally bumped into his table in the library.

"That's why I want to help you," Granger informed him. "You did some horrible things growing up. You were a bigoted, arrogant, heartless bully with nothing to redeem you. You were a coward and a snitch. You hurt others indiscriminately with no thought to their feelings. You'd almost killed Buckbeak, Ron, and Katie in your failed plot to murder Dumbledore, and if you had succeeded at any of those, I would have never been able to forgive you. It's true that you've done many terrible things in the name of blood purity, but now you thank House Elves, and speak to me, a muggle-born, with a modicum of respect. Before the war, you had never demonstrated any guilt or shame for your actions, but I saw it in your eyes that first night back in the Great Hall. It's clear that you have changed, and for whatever mad reason, you are the only one who can help Harry now."

The torchlight flickered in and out and a couple of students roamed the next bookcase over, quietly chatting amongst themselves. Draco and Granger stared at each other in silence until their interlopers' voices trailed away.

"But Potter's still different," Draco murmured, and a flash of Potter in his coffin skipped across his mind's eye. "He's still distant and aloof. He hasn't come back, not entirely."

Granger nodded. "It's true, but he's improving and I see the changes every day. The more he's around you, the more I see the old Harry breaking through. It's odd, but there's no other way to describe it. Somehow, you're grounding him."

Draco looked down at the table, his mind and heart racing.

"So what happened?"

Draco looked back up at her. She gazed back at him expectantly. Draco bit his lip and sighed. There was nothing for it. If he didn't tell her now, she'd figure it out soon enough on her own. His voice was low when he spoke. "My Patronus looks like Potter's."

Granger's eyebrows rose a bit. She surveyed him shrewdly, her brows knitting. Draco shifted uncomfortably, reading the knowledge in her eyes, and he knew that she had connected the dots. He thought she might harangue him, but she reached over instead, as if to place a hand on his. She stopped before she could though, resting her hand back on the table between them. "Was Harry there?"

"Yes," Draco replied morosely. "He was…quite shocked, as you can imagine. As was I, quite frankly."

"What did he say?"

"Not much," Draco muttered, remembering Potter's shocked expression as he stared down at the spot where the wolf had once been. "He told me he was glad I'd finally mastered the charm, but then he said he had to leave to meet with Weasley's sister, although I don't remember him mentioning his plans beforehand. He seemed quite agitated."

"Do you think he knows?" Granger questioned.

Draco stiffened and sent her a questioning look.

"Does he know why your Patronus is the same as his?" Granger elaborated delicately.

"I barely know why myself," Draco muttered evasively, pushing a hand through his hair.

"That's not true," Granger disagreed softly. She looked up at Draco's hair, which was probably sticking up a bit now that he'd run his hand through it. "You've picked up his habits."

Draco looked away, vaguely following the progress of a book on love potions gone wrong as it slowly floated into a slot on the other side of the aisle. "What if I have?"

Her gaze softened, but she didn't say anything.

Draco sighed, his hopelessness catching up with him. "I suspect Potter won't want to be around me for a while."

"He might not even know," Granger pointed out. "He's surprisingly oblivious about these things. Maybe he really did just have a date."

Draco stared at her disbelievingly.

She shrugged. "It's a possibility. But even if he knows, I doubt he'll avoid you for it. He values your friendship, and..."

She trailed off into silence and Draco eventually realized she didn't plan on continuing. "And?"

"Nothing," she denied awkwardly with a shake of her head. "Never mind."

He raised an eyebrow, but she ignored it.

"You shouldn't worry about Harry," she insisted softly. "Besides, there are multiple reasons why your Patronus could resemble Harry's, not least of which is mere coincidence. Plenty of Witches and Wizards have the same Patronus, because they are the animals that best fit them as individuals."

"And yet you seem to have been convinced from the start that that was not the case for me," Draco muttered.

"That's because I'm observant," Granger replied. "This is just further proof of what I'd already suspected."

Draco's eyes widened, and he looked away again. "Am I so obvious?"

"No," Granger shook her head. "I'm certain no one else would have noticed."

Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek, not certain if he believed her, but he had other concerns. "I must admit, you're taking this news better than I would have ever expected."

Granger shook her head and smiled a bit. "I've had a long time to get used to the idea."

Draco frowned. "How long?"

"Long enough," she replied simply.

Draco scowled, feeling a bit self-conscious and awkward, but she only smiled knowingly.

She looked as though she might say something, but then she seemed to think better of it. She lightly placed her hand on his, but only for a brief moment before standing up. "I might as well do more research while I'm here. Are you staying?"

Draco bristled a bit at her evasion, but then he felt too tired to argue and he was keen to avoid the subject as well. He thought about her question and nodded, deciding it was probably best that he start his research essay for McGonagall as the lesson was only two days away. She smiled softly before walking away and disappearing within another aisle. He pulled out his quill, parchment, and a couple of books, settling in for a long night of research which he hoped provided enough interest to distract him from his anxious thoughts.

It was late when he got back to the dorm, and practically fell into his four-poster. He was too tired to even take off his clothes before he closed his bed curtains and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Draco awoke to the sound of a busy dormitory. He groggily sat up and opened his curtains to find Longbottom, Corner, Finch-Fletchley, and Boot chatting and getting dressed. Weasley and Potter were gone.

Heart sinking a bit, Draco made his way into the bathroom, and was thoroughly shocked to find Potter just stepping out of the shower. Draco tensed, wide-eyed, and Potter froze for a long moment, before Potter hastily reached for his towel and Draco abruptly turned around, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Sorry," Draco apologized awkwardly toward the door, mentally cursing his poor timing.

"No problem," Potter murmured behind him.

Draco could hear him padding over to the sink, and he slowly turned back around. Potter was looking into the mirror, drying his hair with a flick of his wand, his towel wrapped around his waist. After a moment, he glanced back at Draco who had just been standing there, staring like a complete berk. Draco's cheeks heated and he wished he could find a hole to crawl into. He thought Potter must truly find him disgusting. Any minute now, he was sure he would ask him to get out.

Potter sent him an odd look. "Are you going to breakfast?"

It took a bit for Draco to realize what Potter had asked him, and he shook his head to clear it. "What?"

Potter turned around and stared at him. "You alright?"

"Er…yes," Draco blurted. "Why?"

"You look a bit edgy."

"Oh," Draco replied lamely. "No, I'm fine. Just tired. I spent a long time studying with Granger in the library last night."

"Sounds fun," Potter commented with a pinched expression, clearly thinking it was anything but.

Draco shrugged stiffly. "At least I finished my Animagus essay."

Potter stared at him, before pushing a hand through his hair. "Listen…I'm sorry for…leaving so soon yesterday. I'd just remembered that Ginny and I had made plans for dinner, and –"

"It's alright, Potter," Draco interrupted hastily. "I don't need a babysitter."

Potter nodded awkwardly. "Right. Yeah, sorry. I just didn't…want you to get the wrong idea."

"Right," Draco uttered lamely. "Well, I didn't. So…"

"Good," Potter replied, then nodded as if to himself.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Draco stepped toward the shower. "Well, I should probably –"

"Right!" Potter blurted, before waving him off. "Yeah…take a shower. I'll be in the common room."

Potter picked his clothes up off the floor and made his way out. Draco stared at the door for a bit, and then he turned around and disrobed. But as he stood in the shower, letting the water beat over the top of his head and neck, he couldn't help wondering about Potter's odd behavior. Clearly, he was agitated, but he was trying to cover it up, badly. Draco pressed his forehead against the cool tile and cursed.

So much for Granger's theory.

He stepped down the stairs and heard Potter and Weasley conversing in the common room. Draco slowed his steps when he heard his name and listened from the shadows.

"…but you were there, right? Just tell me, mate. Was it something horrible?"

Potter sighed. "I'm not going to tell you if Draco didn't want you to know."

"But I'll find out eventually!" Weasley insisted. "What's two days earlier?"

"Ron…"

"Fine, but with all this hedging, I can only assume he lied about the ferret."

Draco stepped into the room and glared at Weasley, who was sprawled out on the couch beside Potter. "I await your disappointment with baited breath."

"That's what someone would say if their Patronus was a ferret," Weasley quipped.

Draco scowled, but Potter stood up from the couch. "I'm hungry."

"Lead the way," Draco muttered, ripping his glare away from Weasley as he felt quite peckish himself given his paltry meal the night before.

He followed them both out of the tower and into the Great Hall as Weasley whinged about Granger's late nights in the library and Potter listened quietly. Draco couldn't help feeling like the odd man out, which only increased his awareness of any differences in Potter's behavior since he'd left him in the abandoned classroom the day before.

Granger was already at the table when they arrived and sat down for breakfast. Weasley prattled on inanely about Granger's studying habits, and Granger interjected every once and a while, her expression a strange mixture of fondness and exasperation. Apparently, Weasley wasn't aware that Draco and Granger had worked together in the library the night before, because if he had known, he would have most certainly interrogated her for information on Draco's Patronus. As it was, he ignored Draco entirely.

As usual, Potter didn't say much, but Draco couldn't help feeling that it was less to do with his normal lack of verbosity and more to do with his burgeoning discomfort around him. Although, maybe that was his paranoia speaking. Either way, Draco was miserable. On more than one occasion, he could see Granger eyeing him with concern, but he just ignored her, keen to avoid any pity.

Inevitably, Draco had to suffer a visit from the Weaslette, who proceeded to whisper a series of sweet nothings, no doubt, into Harry's ear before raising her voice to ask him out to Hogsmeade that weekend. Potter readily agreed, of course, and Draco tried not to let that bother him. He could feel Granger's eyes on him, but the moment he looked back at her, her eyes were quite pointedly focused on her book. She appeared suspiciously preoccupied though, as her gaze failed to scan across the words on the page before she turned it.

He sat through each lesson that day feeling slightly anxious and morose, dreading the looming Animagus lesson the next day. In Charms, he accidentally filled his rat's nostrils with long, curling hair instead of removing its whiskers, and in Care of Magical Creatures, he had to let Longbottom pluck Chizpurfles out of their Augurey's feathers after he'd accidentally pulled a feather out and the bird had resorted to pecking him mercilessly. He was too agitated to sleep through History of Magic, so he masochistically stared longingly at the back of Potter's head from his seat behind him. Granger sent him a sidelong look as she took notes at her desk next to his, but didn't comment.

When the lesson was over and Draco made his escape, Potter joined him on his way to the Great Hall for dinner as Weasley and Granger strolled just ahead, but he didn't say anything and neither did Draco. Draco could have been imagining the tension between them, but Potter's careful silence did nothing to abate his fears.

He glanced over at Potter, who caught his eye with a slightly strained smile. Draco smiled back before hastily looking away. The whole thing was awkward and ridiculous, but he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know what Potter was thinking or what, if anything, he'd figured out. Given Potter's behavior earlier, Draco suspected he had at least an inkling of what Draco's Patronus meant, but he may not have understood the full implications. Obviously, something had made Potter uncomfortable the day before, and now he was either fine with the situation or trying to cover up how discomfited he was. Draco didn't know what to think, and it was driving him mad.

He was so lost in these thoughts, he missed the fact that they had already reached the Entrance Hall and Potter had apparently been trying to speak to him. He shook his head, frustrated with himself. "What?"

Potter stared at him questioningly, and then gripped him by the arm and pulled him off to the side, just avoiding the rush of students making their way to dinner. Draco tensed and Potter slid his hand away. "Are you alright? You've been acting dodgy all day."

"You're the one who's been acting odd," Draco retorted defensively, looking at something past Potter's right shoulder in favor of meeting his gaze.

"Is this about yesterday?" Potter questioned lowly.

Draco's heart beat rapidly in his chest, and he glared at Potter challengingly. "I don't know, is it?"

"What are you…?" Potter let out a breath and looked away. "Are you angry about your Patronus?"

Draco crossed his arms defensively. "No, although you seem less than thrilled."

Potter frowned. "I was just shocked. That's all. So were you, as I recall."

Draco didn't reply, he didn't even know what to say. Potter's thought process was becoming more and more indiscernible. But he found it hard to believe that Potter didn't at least suspect something about him, given how Potter was behaving.

Potter gazed at him searchingly for a moment, and then he sighed, his expression opening up. Suddenly, Draco could see all the agitation Potter had been trying to hide. Potter looked away at something just over Draco's shoulder, as if he couldn't quite meet Draco's eyes.

"I don't hate it," Potter muttered lowly, awkwardly. "I may not have...felt comfortable with it at first, but it's yours and…"

Draco stared at him, wondering if they were still talking about the wolf. Potter looked back at him then, his gaze queerly intense, meaningful, and earnest. Potter opened his mouth and then closed it, clearly conflicted about what he should say. Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from showing his discomfort. He had a good idea what Potter was thinking now, and he wished he would keep it to himself.

"And we're friends," Potter finished awkwardly. "Right?"

Draco nodded slowly, the message clear. He swallowed, his stomach filled with lead. "Right. Friends."

Potter looked away, pushing a hand through his hair, smiling shakily. "Good."

Draco smiled back, but his heart wasn't in it. He could only hope it didn't look like a grimace.

And that was that. The rejection he had been waiting for. He felt hollow and humiliated, but he did his best to appear unaffected as they entered the Great Hall and sat down for dinner. He ate mechanically, the food dust in his mouth. Granger said something to him and he said something back, but a moment later, he couldn't recall the subject matter if he'd tried. The Weaslette dropped by and Draco felt nothing. He didn't even have a right to feel jealous anymore, or so he told himself.

Afterwards, Granger and Weasley went to the library and Potter stayed behind with the Weaslette, leaving Draco to go back to the tower alone. He sat on the common room couch and stared into the flames for a bit, but the moment the other Eighth Years started to trickle in from dinner, he finally trudged up to his four-poster.

He crawled onto his mattress and closed the curtains, curling into a fetal position, and closed his eyes, willing himself to forget the entire day, but he knew, deep down, it wouldn't change how he felt or how Potter felt. Even though he'd told himself it was a lost cause, a part of him had still hoped against all reason for something different. That was the part that hurt, and he needed it to stop.

Potter would never love him, not in the way he wanted. Of course he wouldn't. Draco had known it from the start, and Potter had tried to let him down as gently as he could. He had prepared for this. So why did it still hurt?

Draco fisted his pillow and buried his face in its softness. He wished he had never accomplished a corporeal Patronus. There was no benefit to something that exposed one's soul so thoroughly to others. It was better to keep that sort of thing hidden, he concluded, because he couldn't handle what happened when it wasn't.

Sleep began to claim him and he let it, a vague image of Potter's distant gaze surfacing in his troubled mind. Maybe Potter had concluded the same, he thought hazily, just before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and commenting. Your feedback, whether it be comments or kudos, is my life! ;)


	13. Well, It's No Surprise

Draco couldn't even remember having fallen asleep when he awoke the next morning, but then he tried not to think about the previous day entirely. He stared up at the ceiling and waited for the others to leave, before getting up and taking a shower in the mercifully empty bathroom. He dried his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror, the scar on his chest standing out in stark relief against his skin. He smiled humorlessly at it. It was the saddest metaphor he had ever seen. He brushed his palm across it as if he could wipe it away, but of course it remained. He would never be able to get rid of it. Potter's unwanted mark.

Potter, Weasley, and Granger were waiting for him in the common room. He did his best to appear normal, but he barely looked at Potter. Potter didn't comment on it, which almost made it worse. Draco followed them out and ate with them in the Great Hall. He could feel Granger's concerned gaze every once and a while, but he ignored it. He could feel other students about the Hall watching him behind suspicious glares, but he ignored them too.

The Weaslette dropped by as she was wont to do, her long, red hair nearly dipping into Potter's breakfast as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. Draco ignored her as well.

Once he'd ingested as much as he could possibly stand, he made to leave, but Granger stood up too, gathering her things. "Wait for me."

Draco nodded reluctantly. They both had Arithmancy together while Potter and Weasley enjoyed a free period.

Granger wished her boyfriend and Potter goodbye, and followed Draco into the Entrance Hall, walking quietly beside him as they made their way to the fourth floor Arithmancy classroom. He was grateful for her silence, but he knew it wouldn't last, so he wasn't surprised when she finally spoke.

"What happened?"

He glanced down at her and met her concerned gaze. Then he looked away morosely, too drained to evade the issue. "You were wrong about Potter."

She stared at him searchingly for a moment, before softly replying, "Oh."

Draco remained silent, barely noticing where they were going as they navigated past other students.

"Draco…" she began. "Harry doesn't –"

"Don't," Draco interrupted, trying to keep the sadness and frustration out of his voice. He glanced back at her briefly. "Just…don't."

She stared at him, and looked as though she might argue, but then she seemed to deflate and she nodded meekly. "All right."

They fell back into silence and entered the classroom, taking a seat beside each other. The room filled up and Professor Vector began to lecture, but Draco could barely pay attention. He stared out the window most of the time, watching the rain drops streak down the glass.

When it was over, he didn't notice, and Granger tapped him on the shoulder. She looked like she might say something but then seemed to think better of it. She gathered her things, and he stood and followed her out.

"I'm going to check in with Ron and then study in the library," she commented as they walked through the hall. "I still have to work on the calculations for the Runic Talisman Chart."

Draco nodded, absently staring out at the lake through the windows they passed.

"Would you like to join me?" Granger questioned softly.

Draco glanced back at her then shook his head. "No. Thanks, Granger, but studying is the last thing I'd fancy doing."

"Ok," she replied, her brows knit.

They reached the Entrance Hall and Draco stopped, staring at the large front doors. He glanced back at Granger who was watching him curiously. He needed some air. "I'll see you later."

Before she could reply, he made his way over to the double doors and pushed, letting a blast of cold, wet air hit his face. He absently waved his wand for a drying and warming charm then trudged out into the grounds. The lake matched his mood, steel gray and unsettled as the wind picked up and the rain fell in icy sheets. He sat in his favorite spot, beneath the large oak and tried to forget what had happened the last time he'd been there. He tried to forget everything, tried to stop feeling anything. He used to be so good at that. He'd always been able to compartmentalize his emotions. It's what gave him such an affinity for Occlumency. But now he was barely successful at either, and it hurt.

Fat raindrops pattered loudly on the branches and leaves of the oak, which barely protected Draco from the storm. He sat there for a long time, long enough for the sky to darken and for his drying and warming charm to wear off, leaving him wet and cold to the bone. He barely noticed, which was certainly pitiful, he knew. Nothing was worse than being maudlin out in the cold and rain because his straight, happily attached friend couldn't return his feelings. He knew how ridiculous he was being and yet, he couldn't quite muster the energy to move.

"Hey."

Draco stiffened, caught unawares. He could hear Potter shift from one foot to another behind him, and then he finally sat down beside him. Draco looked away uncomfortably. He didn't particularly want to be near him at the moment.

Potter sighed. "What are you doing out here? You're soaking wet."

Draco glared out at the lake, but he suddenly felt warm and dry, most likely Potter's charm work. Draco shivered involuntarily at the change in temperature as the heat soaked into his bones, but he remained silent.

"Draco…"

Draco frowned and defensively turned the question back on him. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

"I…Hermione's worried," Potter replied roughly. "She told me where to find you."

"She should have come out here herself then," Draco muttered.

Potter sighed and shifted, the dried leaves in the grass crackling beneath him. "I never meant to…" he paused heavily. "I never wanted this."

Draco grimaced. "Neither did I. I never wanted any of it, and yet here I am."

Potter was silent for a moment, and Draco grew uncomfortable. He wished Potter would just leave. He was tired of all the awkward fumbling conversation where they danced around the truth without actually voicing it. He just wanted to be left alone. He was the one left at a disadvantage in this situation. He was the one exposed and vulnerable, and he hated it.

"I'm sorry."

Draco scowled and stood up, walking until he reached the lake edge. He didn't even know if Potter would be able to hear him through the pounding rain, but he almost didn't care. "I don't want your pity. It has nothing to do with you."

Potter stepped up beside him, frowning. "It's not pity. I just…I messed up…I should have, I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't want this to…"

He trailed off again and Draco glared at him impatiently.

Potter pushed his fingers through his hair, obviously frustrated with himself. "Can't we just go back to the way things were?"

Draco looked away to stare moodily out at the lake as the sky grew darker and the rain stopped. The waves glistened orange as the setting sun peaked just below the clouds. He felt absolutely wretched. "I don't know."

Potter let out a shaky breath and went silent, staring out at the lake as well. Draco couldn't help glancing at him, finding his expression uncharacteristically troubled.

"I don't want it to be like this," Potter repeated stubbornly, helplessly.

Draco let out a breath, and stared at him with increasing bemusement. "I don't understand you."

Potter blinked, clearly nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you fighting so hard for this?"

Potter looked at him as if he couldn't quite believe what Draco had asked. "We're friends. I like talking to you."

"But you have Weasley and Granger and the Weasle – Weasley's sister," Draco muttered. "What does it matter to you if we speak to each other less or go our separate ways?"

"Because…you're different from them," Potter insisted. "Ron's funny, but he doesn't have your dark sense of humor, and Hermione's smart, but she doesn't have your wit, and Ginny's…well…she's not you."

Draco's eyes widened, and Potter grimaced. "That came out wrong."

"Of course," Draco agreed, but his traitorous heart was fluttering again. He stared back out at the lake that had grown calm and dark under the evening sky. He remembered why he'd come out here in the first place and the morose, bitter feelings resurfaced. "Don't worry, I understood what you meant."

He could feel Potter watching him, but he didn't glance back. Potter sighed again, for what must have been the third time in as many minutes. "My point is…however unlikely it seems, I like being around you. I don't want to lose that."

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose agitatedly. He couldn't understand Potter at all, but he didn't want to end their friendship either. Even if it was painful, he couldn't stomach the thought of avoiding him indefinitely. For obvious reasons, he wanted to be around him, too. He'd just assumed that Potter would rather not spend time with him after everything that had happened. It would have been a normal reaction to avoid the inevitable awkwardness. Of course, Potter was anything but normal, and Draco had apparently become a complete sap.

"You're insane," Draco muttered feebly.

"You wouldn't be the first to think so," Potter replied bracingly.

Draco stared out at the lake and bit his lip. They both fell into an uneasy silence, and he could feel Potter furtively glancing over at him every few seconds.

"What time is it?" Draco asked eventually, losing his stubborn will to resist.

Potter knit his brows in bemusement, but he complied, casting a tempus on his wrist. "Nearly seven."

Draco stiffened and dread filled him. He hadn't realized it had gotten so late. "The Animagus lesson."

"We won't be late if we head there now," Potter reassured, misconstruing the reason for Draco's anxiety, after looking slightly panicked himself.

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Potter's mouth twitched up at the corners, and he appeared uncommonly relieved. Despite his mounting trepidation about the lesson, Draco's poor mood lifted. He didn't want to avoid Potter anymore.

They walked back into the castle together, making it up to the seventh floor corridor just in time. The other Eighth Years were already gathered around McGonagall as she paced in front of the door. He and Potter joined Granger and Weasley near the back.

"Where have you two been?" Weasley questioned, eyeing Draco suspiciously. "You weren't trying to avoid revealing your Patronus to the class were you, Malfoy?"

"Hardly. I decided to take a stroll around the lake and Potter joined me," Draco lied, before Potter could even open his mouth.

Granger eyed them both perceptively but all she said was, "I'm glad you weren't late."

From his spot near the front of the group, Finnigan noticed Draco and sent him a dark look, before leaning over toward Smith and smirking. Draco glared at him, although inside he was petrified. He didn't want Finnigan and his ilk to see his Patronus and come to the wrong, or rather, the _right_ conclusions, but the event seemed inescapable.

The door finally appeared in the wall and McGonagall stepped through it, beckoning them all to follow. When Draco passed through the threshold, he surveyed the room just as his predecessors had. It was just as cavernous as before, but this time the walls were lined with large mirrors, making the room look even bigger. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting the space in bright off-white light.

"Will we be dancing?" Abbott questioned Longbottom as they walked just behind Draco. "It looks like a ballet studio."

Draco had no idea what that was, so he didn't comment.

Longbottom seemed to be just as ignorant. "Er…ballet?"

"A muggle dance form," Granger explained, glancing back at him. "Ballerinas practice their moves in rooms that look just like this. So they can see what they will look like to the audience when they perform."

McGonagall stopped in the middle of the room, her reflection duplicated infinitely in every mirror. Draco began to sweat as the class gathered in front of her, but his eyes caught upon the reflection of Su Li, who looked particularly pale as she stood just ahead of him. Turpin stood next to her, watching her friend with no small amount of concern.

"I trust you have all managed to complete your assignments. Please turn in your essays," McGonagall stated crisply with a flick of her wand, and the moment Draco shakily opened his book bag, his essay floated out and into her hand.

When every parchment had been delivered this way, she riffled through them, eyeing them briefly. Her gaze caught upon one and then she looked up at Draco, her brows rising slightly. Draco tensed, but she didn't comment, and went back to glancing through the parchments. Some students glanced back at Draco curiously, including Finnigan, and Weasley looked about ready to jump out of his skin with the intrigue of it all. Draco ignored them all, doing his best to appear aloof. Potter shifted uncomfortably beside him and Draco's stomach began to churn. When McGonagall was finished, one of her thin eyebrows rose. "Ms. Li, I haven't received your essay."

Li stiffened, but Turpin put a hand on her shoulder and answered for her. "I'm sorry, Professor. Su hasn't been able to create a corporeal Patronus yet."

Draco's eyes widened, and most of the class burst out into shocked gasps and murmurs. He couldn't believe she hadn't managed the Charm. She had been ahead of Draco from the start and probably had help from all of the other Eighth Years. A part of him was glad that she had failed, as she had been the one to snitch on his poor showing to their House mates, but a larger part of him could sympathize. After all, he was just as embarrassed by his own results, albeit for different reasons.

"Silence, if you please," McGonagall commanded disapprovingly, and the students settled down. Her gaze turned back toward Li, her lips pursed. "Very well. Your assignments will be pushed back until you can master the Charm. Sometimes, one just needs enough time to get it right. It is a very difficult piece of magic."

Li nodded, her voice conspicuously wobbly. "Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall regarded the class at large once more. "As we have quite a full schedule for this lesson, I ask those who hadn't yet learned the Charm until last week to please demonstrate your Patronuses after this lesson, in the absence of your peers, so that your classmates may leave in a timely manner."

Draco stared at her, hardly believing what he'd heard, as the room filled with disappointed groans and murmurs. Finnigan appeared particularly upset, and he scowled at Draco's reflection. Draco glared back at him.

"Wait," Weasley broke in agitatedly to Granger. "Does that mean we won't get to see Malfoy's Patronus?"

Mentally thanking Merlin for this fortunate turn of events, Draco relaxed and smirked at Weasley. "Too bad, Weasel."

Weasley groaned. "It's like a conspiracy!"

Granger patted his back consolingly, but she spared a smile for Draco, before glancing just past him. Draco turned to find Potter looking highly relieved. Apparently, he had been dreading Draco revealing his Patronus to the masses just as much as Draco had. Potter caught his eye and grinned, but Draco frowned and looked away. It suddenly felt as if he'd been hit by a stunner to the gut. He could feel Potter staring at him, but then McGonagall spoke.

"This lesson we will be focusing on advanced human transfiguration," McGonagall stated. "Before now, you have been working on inanimate objects and animals with limited forays into transforming the human body, but if you wish to learn how to transform yourself into an animal, you must first learn how to correctly transfigure your body in a complete and coordinated manner. Animagus transfiguration is both highly difficult and highly dangerous precisely because the transfiguration required is complete inside and out. The human body is infinitely more complicated than a chair and appreciably more complicated than a rat. So we will be starting small, but with goals more advanced than simply transforming one single body part or one article of clothing."

The Eighth Years murmured excitedly, and she continued. "We shall begin by transfiguring ourselves into the opposite gender."

The room fell into a shocked silence and Draco almost choked on his own spit.

"What?" Weasley uttered, and some students chuckled appreciably.

McGonagall's smile was dry. "I realize this exercise might prove uncomfortable for some, but it is essential training. Changing from one sex to another does not require drastic transfiguration, but it is just difficult enough to provide important practice in concentration and competent spell work. It also includes transforming a variety of materials from cloth to hair to flesh, all of which you will have to master if you are to become a successful Animagus. And it will accustom you to the variety of sensations you will experience while transfiguring your own body.

"Although, in the process, please make sure you do not get stuck."

Weasley yelped pitifully, his face unnaturally pale. Draco noticed his hands hovering protectively over his bits. Granger frowned at Weasley's antics and Draco rolled his eyes. _Gullible twit_.

"That was a joke, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall informed him reassuringly. "Just a bit of transfiguration humor. Don't worry, I will not allow you to get stuck as a girl. I happen to know how to transfigure anything back to its proper place, size, and proportion."

The entire class laughed with the exception of Weasley and Granger, who was doing an admirable job of hiding her amusement behind her hand. Potter chuckled, although he looked as though he was trying to hold back for his best mate's benefit.

"That's what he's worried about!" Smith japed, and everyone laughed harder, including Draco, despite himself. McGonagall's lips twitched and Weasley's ears reddened considerably.

"Shut it, Zacharias," he muttered moodily, but Granger leaned over and whispered something to him, and his expression notably brightened. Draco didn't even want to know.

"I think that is quite enough," McGonagall stated and the laughter died. "I trust we are all of age, and mature enough to get through this lesson without further incident."

They all shifted uncomfortably, properly chided.

"Now, pay attention as I demonstrate the technique," she continued briskly. "First I shall focus on the body itself and work my way outward. This is best practice for any form of transfiguration if you are going about it in stages as we are. The incantation is Contrasexus."

She waved her wand three times, before resting the tip over her sternum. They all stared in rapt attention as her body began to change, starting at her chest and moving outward. Her chest flattened and her shoulders widened, followed by a slight narrowing of her hips. Her jaw line lost its soft edges and her brow bulged slightly. She had always been a tall woman, but now she grew several inches. Her robes were too loose to see any of the other changes, but Draco had to assume they were there, and he couldn't help shivering uncomfortably a bit at that idea.

She, or _he_ as it may be, pulled her wand away and surveyed them all. Some of the Eighth Years clapped appreciatively and she allowed a smile.

"Blimey," Weasley uttered.

"As you can see," she began, and Draco stiffened at the new low tenor of her voice. "I have transformed my body, but not everything on the surface. My hair has remained the same length and my clothing is the same cut. The next step is tailoring these accessories to fit your new shape. I believe you have all learned a bit of this in previous Transfiguration lessons. Transforming your hair should not be difficult."

She waved her wand and her long hair fell out of its carefully controlled bun before shortening drastically.

"The incantation for growing facial hair is Inserobarbus," she instructed, before waving her wand in front of her face. A medium length beard grew in its wake, and some of the Eighth Years chuckled in amusement. It was an odd sight. She effectively looked like a middle-aged wizard in witch's robes, which were no longer long enough to properly cover her ankles and wrists.

"The incantation for tailoring is Sartorius," she continued, before flicking her wand over her robes and changing their size and shape. The cloth lengthened to her hands and feet, then she added a muggle tie and vest. "You may have more clothing to transfigure, depending upon what you are wearing and how masculine or feminine you would like to appear. I will leave that up to you, although it would be best if you at least attempt to appear as stereotypical of your new gender as possible for the purposes of this exercise."

Some of the students shifted and shared uneasy looks. Draco couldn't help glancing at Potter's reflection in the mirror. Even he appeared mildly apprehensive.

"It is most important that you imagine how you would like to appear and focus on that image. That will give you the most accurate results. Although, ultimately, you will end up looking like yourself and no one else. This spell is designed to change your gender only. You will have the rest of the lesson to transform and perfect your form, before showing the finished results to your peers for critique," McGonagall instructed in her unnervingly deep voice. "Then you can all revert back to your original gender."

With that, she waved her wand, placed the tip against her sternum, and transformed back into a witch. "You may begin."

"She's mad," Weasley commented as the room filled with anxious chatter.

"Hardly," Granger disagreed. "This is a relevant exercise that will prepare us for the more complicated transformations we'll have to complete to become Animagi. I don't see what you're so worried about."

"Of course you don't," Weasley muttered. "You've got nothing to lose!"

Granger's eyes narrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Er…" Weasley stuttered, clearly realizing that he had effectively stuck his foot in his mouth. "Nothing. It's just…well, you're a _girl_."

Granger's expression darkened dangerously, and she huffed, "Well, not for long."

She turned on her heal and marched off toward the back of the room.

Weasley gaped at her. "Wait…I didn't mean anything by it! I love girls! Obviously. Hermione?"

He trailed after her like a kicked puppy and Draco rolled his eyes. He glanced at Potter who shook his head at Weasley's retreating figure and smiled exasperatedly.

"I don't think he'll ever learn."

"That's because he's an idiot," Draco stated dryly.

"Not all the time," Potter disagreed. "He gets good marks and he's quite good at chess."

"Well," Draco observed. "You can see the good that's done him."

Weasley and Granger were bickering at the back of the room now, his hands flying everywhere as she testily planted her hands on her hips.

"Don't dawdle," McGonagall stated above the din as everyone chatted amongst themselves. "You only have an hour and a half to complete your transformation."

Potter sighed. "I reckon we should get on with it."

"Scared of losing your bezoars and bits?" Draco questioned wryly.

"More than you could ever know," Potter admitted grimly.

Draco stared at him and had to laugh. Potter cracked a smile. "You heard McGonagall, Potter. She'll make sure everything is put back in its place."

"It's the proportions I'm most worried about," Potter quipped.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Who knows, maybe she'll make a mistake and give you more than you have."

Potter chuckled. "That wouldn't be a mistake then."

"No, I suppose not," Draco agreed, trying not to imagine Potter with enhanced…assets. Merlin knew how little Potter would appreciate that. He pushed the morose thought away, and made his way over to an open spot in front of a mirror. Potter followed, and stood beside him.

Draco glanced at Potter's reflection. "I bet I'll make a better looking witch than you."

"I don't doubt it," Potter grinned. "You're so delicate."

Draco scowled. "I'm not delicate. I'm refined."

Potter rolled his eyes. "You're stalling."

"So are you," Draco accused, but he stared back at his reflection and raised his wand. He tried to imagine himself as a girl and focused on that image. Then he waved his wand three times and placed the tip on his sternum. He could see Potter doing the same beside him. "Contrasexus."

It was a strange sensation, not quite painful but uncomfortable all the same. He could feel his slacks grow tight around his waist as his hips widened, and he could swear his jaw line softened somewhat, but then the transformation stopped. He shifted a bit, the tightness of his trousers constraining his still intact crotch.

Potter glanced at his reflection and chuckled. "You're missing a few bits, or maybe you're not missing enough."

"Yes, thank you, Potter. I wouldn't have been able to deduce that on my own." Draco sneered, looking up and down at Potter's reflection. He smirked. "You look like a wizard in drag."

Potter looked down at himself. He'd only managed to grow two respectably sized breasts before the transformation stopped. It looked awful on his broad-shouldered frame. Draco frowned. It was all too obvious where Potter's focus had been.

"I don't know. I'm quite fond of them," he quipped, poking one experimentally.

Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Potter had to be the straightest wizard he knew. Unfortunately. Draco sighed and looked back at himself in the mirror. He attempted the spell again, and tried to focus on the things that needed changing.

This time, his shoulders narrowed and his chest developed, his button up shirt straining uncomfortably. Then his jaw line softened further, and his brow receded somewhat, with the effect of making his eyes look slightly bigger. His entire body shrank a few inches, leaving him that much shorter. Reluctantly, he concentrated further and experienced the highly uncomfortable sensation of the bits between his legs shrinking to nothingness and transforming into something else. Then the transformation finally stopped. He shifted uneasily, his clothing ill fitting now as his sleeves and trousers nearly covered his hands and feet, but the area around his waist and chest remained too tight.

Potter gasped beside him.

Draco glanced at him in the mirror with a slight smirk. He looked a lot like a girl now. He was shorter, but still around Draco's height and his clothes were just as ill-fitting, if not more so because they had been baggy to start with. He was still skinny but all of his edges were more rounded somehow, starting with his jaw and following the new curves of his body. He wasn't wholly unattractive as a girl, Draco had to admit, but his image wasn't helped by his messy mop of hair and the fact that he looked slightly ill.

"Finally lost the packet, have you?" Draco stiffened at the sound of his own voice, it was unnervingly high now. He scowled. He sounded like Pansy.

Potter nodded. When Potter spoke, Draco irritably noticed that Potter's new voice wasn't nearly as high as his. "It's the odd sucking sensation I could have done without."

Draco shifted again, the space between his legs unnervingly empty. "I could have done without losing my bits entirely."

Suddenly, someone cried out near the back of the room, and Draco and Potter turned around to see Weasley doubled over, his body only halfway through changing gender. Granger appeared to have already completed her transformation into an oddly dashing wizard, even her hair was cropped close and her clothing modified to fit. She was on her knees beside Weasley, looking worried albeit exasperated. Soon, the entire class, in various stages of transformation, were staring wide-eyed at the scene as McGonagall bustled over.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Weasley?" she questioned.

Weasley attempted to sit up and for the first time, Draco could see his chest. His breasts were huge. So large, in fact, that it was difficult for him to fully lift up from the floor. Luckily, his robes covered most of it, because Draco was certain his shirt couldn't have survived. Granger shook her head long-sufferingly and McGonagall appeared quite appalled.

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall stated sternly. "I daresay you focused a bit too hard on one part of the female anatomy and not enough on the rest."

The entire class broke out into gales of laughter, and Draco couldn't help joining in. Even Potter was barely holding back, his usual chuckle transformed into a giggle by his soprano voice.

Weasley looked absolutely pitiful, his ears turning pink in his embarrassment.

McGonagall sighed and waved her wand. Weasley's bulbous appendages subsequently shrunk until he was flat-chested again, and he gingerly stood up, rubbing his hand across his chest. "Start over, Mr. Weasley. And see this doesn't happen again."

Weasley nodded contritely. "Yes, Professor."

She nodded stiffly and turned toward the rest of them. "Get back to work. There are only twenty minutes left in the lesson, and ten before you will have to show your final transformation."

The Eighth Years dispersed and Draco shared an amused look with Potter before they turned back toward the mirror. Even though he knew what to expect, Draco was still a bit shocked to see his petite, feminine form staring back at him. But his hair was still short and his clothing ill fitting, and after all this trouble, he supposed he should complete the overall look.

He worked at lengthening his hair first, until it was a long, golden cascade down to his waist, and then he started on his clothing. He debated styles, but eventually concluded he should try to appear as feminine as possible. He'd seen what Pansy had worn often enough, and decided to use her style as an example. He took off his school robe and shortened his loose trousers into a pleated skirt that reached just above mid-thigh. He noticed his legs were a bit hirsute so he shaved them with the spell he used on his face every morning. He inspected his smooth legs when he was done, satisfied with the results. Then he lengthened his black socks until they almost reached mid-thigh, still leaving a space between them and the bottom of his skirt. His shirt came next. He kept it button-up with the tie, but he shortened the sleeves so that his arms were bare. He also gave a little more room in the chest, and it was suddenly a lot easier to breathe. He shrunk his black leather shoes so that they fit his smaller feet and added slightly more heel to the back.

When he was finished, he stared at his reflection from top to bottom. He supposed it was acceptable. He could tell a beautiful witch as well as the next wizard, but they had never quite been his cup of tea. Maybe Potter would know better. He glanced over at Potter, who was studiously working on his clothing. He didn't look half bad. His ever-messy hair now tumbled over his shoulders in waves and his clothing fit his smaller, feminine form better, but he had definitely opted for Granger's style, which included trousers and the same long-sleeved button-up shirt. Potter stepped back and stared at himself thoughtfully, biting his lip.

"It's a bit conservative," Draco observed, his high voice still sounding alien to his ears.

"Yeah," Potter agreed, before glancing back at him, and then staring.

Draco shifted uncomfortably as Potter continued to stare without blinking. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"Er…" Potter uttered eloquently.

Draco looked down at himself, beginning to feel self conscious. "Is it the outfit? I thought I remembered what Pansy used to wear, but it might be a bit much."

He looked back up to see Potter obligingly giving him the once over, his face conspicuously flushed.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right, Potter?"

"What?" Potter questioned vaguely, then his gaze snapped up to Draco's. "Oh! Yeah…er…yeah."

He hastily looked away, appearing highly disoriented, as if he had just been hit in the head by a bludger.

"You sure?" Draco questioned suspiciously. He stepped forward and pressed his hand against Potter's forehead. Potter jumped, and Draco pulled his hand back. "You're a bit warm."

"It's nothing!" Potter denied a bit desperately, and he took a few steps back.

Draco stared at him, incapable of understanding his odd behavior. "Alright."

"Time's up!" McGonagall called out over the din. "Please gather over here for your critique."

Potter seemed all too happy to go join the others, his wider hips swaying awkwardly as he walked. Nonplussed, Draco picked up his robes and followed Potter at a more sedate pace. Granger and Weasley soon caught up with him, the latter now fully transformed into a witch, no doubt with Granger's help.

"You look quite good as a girl, Malfoy," Granger told him, in her oddly deep voice.

Draco had to look up at her as she was now almost a head taller than him. Everything about her was masculine now, from her pronounced jaw line to her broad shoulders and short, slicked back hair, but she was still unmistakably herself.

"I look good no matter what gender I am," Draco drawled haughtily, pushing some hair out of his face and flipping it back over his shoulder in a manner Pansy had been particularly fond of.

"You've certainly gotten the prissy, arrogant school girl act down," Weasley muttered as they joined the group in front of McGonagall, his new voice offensively shrill.

Draco stepped up beside Potter, who tensed a bit, but Draco eyed Weasley disdainfully. He looked a lot like the Weaslette, if she were slightly taller and ugly. "And you still look like you were born in a den."

Granger sent him a disapproving look and Weasley scowled, but he didn't get a chance to retort, before McGonagall commandeered their attention.

"If you will please step forward when I call your name, I can evaluate you. Once you've done so, you can leave. Except for, of course, those who have yet to demonstrate their Patronuses."

She called on Hannah Abbott first and went alphabetically from there. Abbott made a stringy and homely wizard with a long face and chin-length blond hair. She timidly stepped forward and turned around for the class. Everyone clapped politely, and she blushed in a disconcertingly effeminate manner before returning to her spot beside Longbottom.

This turned out to be somewhat of a trend. Boot, Bones, Brown, Corner, Goldstein, and Granger followed to the same fanfare. Finnigan made a particularly horrendous sight as his hair was still short and his clothing had somehow changed color to a deep puce. McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment, only writing something down on her parchment. Longbottom followed Finch-Fletchley and Li. He wasn't terrible looking for a witch, but he was still quite tall and pudgy in the midsection. MacMillan didn't fare quite as well. His shoulders were still a bit too wide.

When Draco was called, he stepped forward with as much confidence as he could muster, swinging his hips for good measure and flipping his long hair back over his shoulder carelessly. Basically, he just copied every movement Pansy had ever made when she had been trying to intimidate the other girls in Slytherin. Once he turned around, however, only Longbottom, Granger, and Potter clapped for him, while the rest of the crowd filled with scattered muttering. Draco held his head high, but he felt ridiculous. McGonagall jotted something down in her notes, before nodding in approval, and he made his way back to his spot between Granger and Potter, who was very deliberately not looking at him. Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. He didn't know what was going through Potter's head, but it seemed as though Draco's feminine form made him highly uncomfortable. He was tense and flushed whenever Draco got near him. It was almost as if he…

Draco's eyes widened and his heart beat sped up.

Potter was attracted to him…or _her_ , rather. Draco's lifting mood sank. No, it was no different from before. It was _her_ body Potter was getting hot and bothered over, not Draco himself. This didn't mean anything, and Potter was probably mortified by it, which explained his active avoidance. It would all go away once Draco changed back.

Heart aching, Draco stood in his increasingly awkward body and distantly watched the rest of the students, including Potter, have their turn. When it was over, McGonagall waved her wand over each of them and transformed them back to their natural state. Most let out an exaggerated sigh and laughed with relief. Draco was grateful to be back in his proper body, but he couldn't drudge up the will to feel nearly as pleased about it.

Weasley grinned down at his crotch, before putting his arm around Granger's shoulders. She shook her head exasperatedly, but didn't comment. Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him, and he glanced back, but the moment he did, Potter's eyes widened and he looked away. Draco stared at him, but Potter never looked back, a troubled frown tugging at his mouth. Draco meant to question him, but McGonagall interrupted.

"On average, you all did well. Good job," she commended. "You will each receive your individual marks in good time. Please read chapter three in your text books for next lesson. Ms. Li, Mr. Malfoy, and Ms. Turpin, please stay, the rest of you are dismissed."

The class began to move toward the exit and Granger said goodbye to Draco, before following Weasley out. Draco tried to catch Potter's eye with a muttered, "See you later, Potter." But Potter only nodded distractedly and made his escape. Draco watched him go warily. Maybe he had been wrong about Potter's reaction from the start. It seemed as though Potter was uncomfortable around him, but he didn't know why. Potter disappeared through the door, and soon the room was empty but for Draco, McGonagall, Turpin, and Li.

"Ms. Turpin, if you would begin," McGonagall stated into the silence.

Turpin nodded shakily and pointed her wand forward, incanting the Charm. A small, glowing owl fluttered out and landed on her shoulder.

McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Have you determined the particular species of owl?"

"Yes," she replied softly. "It's called a Little Owl or Athene Noctua in Latin."

"Very good," McGonagall commended. "You are certainly on your way. Mr. Malfoy? If you please."

Draco nodded, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He couldn't help glancing over at Li and Turpin anxiously, but he reasoned that he shouldn't worry about them. They hadn't seen Potter's Patronus since last week, after all, and at that point he had told everyone it looked like a dog. Surely, they wouldn't notice its similarities to his. He took in a breath and raised his wand, closing his eyes. He was troubled, so it was harder to find any happiness to borrow, but he bit his lip and remembered Potter's advice. He already knew he could do it, so he would. He incanted the Charm, and opened his eyes. The accursed wolf was staring back at him.

He could feel Turpin glancing between him and the wolf curiously, but he ignored her. His Patronus quickly grew tired of him and stood up to wander, sniffing about, as McGonagall watched it and made notes.

"It's a wolf?" McGonagall finally questioned.

"Yes," Draco replied. "Possibly a Yukon. The largest."

"Hm," she murmured, staring at him for a moment. He did his best not to fidget under her calculating gaze. "Very good. You and Ms. Turpin are dismissed. I will discuss matters further with Ms. Li."

Draco avoided glancing at Li or Turpin and made his way out as quickly as he could, but Turpin caught up to him just as he entered the empty, torch lit hall.

"You have the same Patronus as Harry, don't you?"

Draco stopped and stiffened anxiously, before he shook his head in denial, and started walking again at a brisk pace. "No, you're mistaken."

"I remember," Turpin insisted, infernally following him. "They look the same."

Draco ignored her, picking up his pace in hopes that she would take the hint and leave him alone. She fell behind.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Draco stopped and stared ahead for a long time, moonlight shining in through the windows and leaving strange, glowing patterns on the stone floor, then he turned around and stared at her incredulously. "Why?"

"You don't want anyone to know, right?" she rejoined, her dark brown eyes watching him carefully.

Draco wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why would you do that for me?"

"Because…" she began, glancing away for a moment, before staring back at him. "Even though you were my enemy, I feel sorry for you."

Draco stared at her painfully earnest expression, a frown tugging at his lips, his heart in his throat. She pitied him, it was written all over her face. Digging his nails into his scarred palm, he turned around and walked away.

Mercifully, she didn't follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and all of your wonderful comments. ;)
> 
> If you can believe it, this fic had been initially conceived around the premise of Draco gender-swapping. As you can see, the fic evolved into something far more serious, but I kept a bit of it in as a tribute to the crack it had once been in my head.


	14. In Those Dull Green Eyes

Draco opened his eyes and felt a queer heaviness on his chest. He raised his head and looked down to see the gigantic, black head of a wolf resting on him. One of its ears twitched in his direction, but otherwise, the wolf lay there sedately, its warm side pressed up against his. Slightly alarmed, Draco took in his surroundings. He looked to be lying in a snow drift and all he could see was white tundra in every direction, but he didn't feel cold at all.

Cautiously, he tried to sit up. The wolf growled a bit, and Draco stiffened, but then it opened one green eye and glanced at him, before lifting its head. Draco took in a deep breath as the weight left his chest, and stared at the wolf uncertainly. It only gazed back at him, its head cocked to the side as if questioning why he had interrupted its sleep. Gingerly, he sat up and the wolf let out a deep, whimpering sound, but didn't do anything to stop him.

"Where are we?" Draco questioned into the silence, as if the wolf could answer him.

The wolf nuzzled and licked his hand, startling him. It was so large, his hand could probably easily fit in its mouth. Cautiously, Draco raised his hand and placed it on its large head, petting the short fur there. It was surprisingly soft, especially around the ears. The wolf closed its eyes a bit and leaned into the touch, appearing content. A wind picked up, lifting some loose snow into the air and blowing it onto the its thick, black fur as well as Draco's face, but it didn't feel cold at all. It was the queerest sensation. He searched the distance, looking for anything other than white, snowy abyss, but he couldn't see anything.

Then he looked behind him, and froze. A huge wall of ice rose up from the tundra with something dark suspended inside of it. Draco stumbled to his feet, careless of the whimpering wolf as it stood up as well and nudged his hip with its wet nose. He stepped closer and peered at the dark shape frozen in the ice, trying to decipher what it was. The ice wasn't perfectly clear and the hazy shape was buried deep within, so he couldn't quite tell, but he could see it was relatively large, about his size. Agitated, he pressed his bare hand against the surface. He expected it to be cold, but the moment his palm touched the ice, it sizzled and cracked. Water began to slide down the wall in rivulets from the point of contact. Realizing that he was somehow melting the ice with his touch alone, he pressed his other hand against the wall and pushed. It cracked violently and the wolf barked and howled anxiously behind him. Draco ignored it and stepped forward toward the suspended shape as the ice crumbled and melted around him. As he got closer it became clear it was a person, but he couldn't make out the features.

He was drenched by the time he reached the figure and the ice fell away to reveal an unnaturally blue-tinted face. Draco sucked in a breath as he stared. It was Potter, and he looked dead, his eyes closed and his skin covered in ice crystals. Frantically, Draco dug him out, pressing forward until Potter was in his arms. The ice loosened and Potter's limp form fell heavily against him. It was all Draco could do to keep standing, before he finally collapsed, Potter with him.

Breathing heavily, he laid him down and knelt over his prone form, uncertain about what to do. Potter wasn't breathing and Draco didn't have his wand. He pressed a hand over his heart to feel for a pulse, and stiffened when he couldn't find one, but then he looked at Potter's face and noticed that it had grown less pale. Cautiously, he pressed his other hand on Potter's cheek and the skin colored further. The wolf padded up beside him and watched as the ice crystals melted away from Potter's skin, leaving small droplets, and his lips took on a healthy, rosy hue.

"C'mon, Potter," Draco coaxed uneasily. "You can't die, remember?"

Then, just like that, Potter spasmed and gasped in a ragged breath, coughing violently. He opened his eyes and sat up, frantically looking around. Draco pulled back and stared at him with trepidation. Potter's gaze darted everywhere before locking upon him. His green eyes filled with something Draco had never seen in them before, horror.

"What have you done?" Potter questioned hoarsely, his expression a mask of anguish. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "I can't…"

Suddenly, Draco was leaning over the coffin in the forest, and Potter was holding his arm in a vice like grip. Potter stared up at him, fear and anger warring in his eyes. "Stay away from me."

Then an invisible force pushed him back and he woke up in his four-poster, hyperventilating. Draco gasped, his heart beat hammering in his chest, and stared up at the ceiling until his racing thoughts could catch up with him. It had been a dream, a horrifically realistic dream, but he was awake now. He turned on his side and took deeper breaths until he could calm down. He stared at the cracks in the stone wall and waited for his heart beat to slow.

Once his breathing evened out and he could think straight, he pulled his wand out from under his pillow and read the time, _1100_. He'd slept in, but it was Saturday, so it didn't matter.

He'd had a late night previous. He hadn't been able to sleep after Astronomy so he'd taken a walk around the grounds to clear his head. It hadn't helped much with his agitation, but eventually he'd been too exhausted to stay up any longer.

Potter hadn't spoken to him in complete sentences since the Animagus Lesson. He'd never been antagonistic, but he'd kept his distance. It felt like Potter was actively avoiding him, even when he was standing right next to him, and Draco couldn't decide if that was better or worse than not being present at all. Either way, it was awkward and Draco had no idea why it was happening. After everything Potter had said out by the lake about wanting to be around Draco, wanting to be his friend, it didn't make any sense. Potter didn't seem to want to be around him anymore. It was as if he only tolerated him now, and Draco didn't know how to rectify it.

And now this dream. Apparently, Draco's subconscious had decided he wasn't being tortured enough in waking life. He sighed wearily and sat up, rubbing his blurry eyes. The dorm was silent. Everyone must have already left. He was grateful for that when he opened his bed curtains and stumbled to the bathroom. He took a shower and tried not to think about the dream, but it had left him upset and he couldn't shake the feeling.

He was surprised to find the common room empty, but for Granger, who was sitting on the couch and staring into the flames with a fixed, moody expression when he came down. He thought of walking right past her and out the portal, but he knew she would notice him before he could get that far. So he sighed wearily and nodded his head. "Granger."

She glanced up at him, her expression distinctly troubled.

"Where's Weasley?" he prompted, almost certain that he was the cause of her foul mood.

She grimaced, and Draco knew he had been right.

"We had a row," Granger explained.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"It was about your Patronus," Granger continued. She seemed to sense his alarm, because she added hastily, "I didn't tell him what it was! But that was the problem. He'd figured out that I knew and got angry when I wouldn't tell him. It's stupid, really."

Draco let out a breath and casually sat down on the chintz chair beside her. "I doubt he'd understand the significance of it even if you did tell him."

Granger sent him a sideways look. "You don't give him enough credit, which is typical, I suppose. He'd figure it out, and I'm not completely certain how he'd react, but it's not my secret to reveal. I told him that, but he got cross anyway. I suppose he thinks I'm betraying him."

"Understandable," Draco admitted, looking into the flames.

Granger sighed. "Yes, it is."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I apologize for…any inconvenience this has caused you."

He could feel Granger staring at him and he glanced back at her. She appeared a bit shocked, but then she shook her head. "Don't worry, he'll get over it. This is not the first row we've ever had, nor will it be the last."

"There's something slightly dysfunctional about that," Draco observed.

"Oh, it's more than a bit dysfunctional," Granger agreed. "But we're in love."

Draco grimaced, and Granger smiled. "Don't pretend you're adverse to the subject. I know what your Patronus is."

Draco frowned. "I'd rather be rid of it. This love business hasn't exactly been kind to me."

Granger's smile slowly fell away, and she stood up. "Come with me to Hogsmeade."

Draco stared up at her incredulously. "Won't your boyfriend disapprove?"

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend," she informed him. "Everyone will be there."

Draco realized she was right. He'd forgotten, but it explained his Housemates' conspicuous absence. He remembered it was also where Potter and the Weaslette had planned to have their date. "I'd rather finish my work here."

"I happen to know you'd already finished all of your work in the library yesterday," Granger informed him. "That excuse won't work."

Draco sighed irritably. "Do you ever get tired of being an overbearing know-it-all?"

"No," she quipped with a slight smile.

Draco stared up at her stubborn expression, and relented. "Fine, but don't expect me to enjoy it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," she stated as he stood. "I'll try to enjoy it enough for the both of us."

"That's very kind of you," Draco drawled sardonically.

"I thought so," Granger replied, and he followed her out the portal, wishing he had never set foot in the common room in the first place.

When they cleared Filch's suspicious gaze and stepped out onto the grounds, it was cold and windy, the sun blocked out by a blanket of high, gray clouds. They both performed warming charms, but Draco still wished he was sitting back in the common room by the fire.

The trail up to the village was relatively empty due to the late hour, but the moment they reached the cobbled street, surrounded by quaint buildings, the fact that it was a Hogsmeade weekend was quite inescapable. Black-robed Hogwarts students were packed in the street, chatting loudly in excited huddles or perusing the shop windows for anything of interest. As usual, the Third Years were the worst. They were the ones carrying mountains of purchases in their arms, mostly sweets and items that would give Filch acute dyspepsia. Draco ignored some of the looks he received as he walked down the street, thoroughly used to the negative attention his arrival almost always garnered. He tensed at the thought of spotting Potter with the Weaslette, but mercifully, they weren't in evidence.

He and Granger passed Dogweed and Deathcap and the Post Office, before Granger predictably paused in front of Scrivenschaft's Quill Shop.

"I need a new quill and parchment," she explained, and Draco reluctantly followed her into the shop, thinking he might as well purchase some more ink as he was running low on black.

The shop had the overwhelming scent of old parchment and the proprietor behind the counter looked as though his skin was made of it. Granger greeted the old, thin-haired wizard with a polite nod, but the moment the man's gaze fell upon Draco his milky eyes narrowed in distaste.

"I hope you're not expecting to purchase anything in my shop, Death Eater."

Draco clenched his jaw and Granger stared back at the shopkeeper, wide eyed.

"I'm sorry, sir," she stated. "But he's not a Death Eater."

The old wizard chuckled humorlessly. "You think I don't know who he is, Miss Granger? I remember the things he'd done in this village, Imperiusing Madame Rosmerta and cursing that innocent girl. She was in your House, wasn't she? That Death Eater doesn't belong in this village and I won't service him."

Granger stared at him, clearly distressed, but then she briefly glanced at Draco, and her expression hardened. "Then you won't service me, either."

"You'd do best not to consort with his type. Some people may talk," the old man growled, but Granger ignored him and followed Draco out.

When they were back out on the street, Granger sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry about that."

Draco shook his head with a scowl. He should have expected it. It was too easy to forget there were consequences for everything he'd done. "I should go."

"No," she retorted. "Stay."

"You heard him, Granger. I'm not wanted here," Draco insisted.

"If you listen to them, you'll never be able to move on," she stated.

"And why should I have that right?" Draco asked bitterly. "Everything he accused me of is true."

"Because you've changed," Granger insisted heatedly. "You aren't a Death Eater any more, you're not a bully, and I know you no longer ascribe to the ideology that Purebloods are better than everyone else. If changing and genuinely repenting for the things you've done can't earn forgiveness, then what is the point?"

Draco stared at her, taken aback.

"We weren't just fighting Voldemort and Death Eaters during the war," Granger continued. "We were fighting intolerance and bigotry and fear of those who are different. You were found innocent by the Wizengamot for a reason."

"Because Potter defended me," Draco murmured.

"Harry had hated you in school, but even he saw in the last year of the war that you had become a victim of Voldemort and your father's poisonous ideology," Granger stated. "We will never forget the atrocities and we are going to punish those who deserve it, but you are not one of them."

Draco looked away and stared down the street uncertainly. He knew that if he wanted to lead a normal life, he'd have to stop hiding from those who disliked him, but that was easier said than done. Now that Potter was avoiding him, he had no allies except Granger, which was odd enough.

"Come with me to Honeydukes," Granger insisted. "If the proprietor refuses you there too, then you can leave. I won't stop you."

Draco glanced back at her and nodded reluctantly. "Fine."

Honeydukes was characteristically packed, but no one seemed to notice Draco when he entered as the students scrambled over each other for their favorite sweets. Granger went straight for the Chocolate Frogs, mumbling something about Weasley under her breath. Draco navigated his way toward the Acid Pops, wondering if he could somehow trick Finnigan into sucking on one, but then he settled on some Cauldron Cakes and a batch of Sugar Quills to keep him awake during Binn's lessons. He looked about for Granger, but she was lost in the crowd. So he made his way to the counter at the back. The cashier was a plump witch who eyed him suspiciously, but didn't comment as she flicked her wand to neatly bag his sweets and accepted his galleons. He gratefully made his escape, and still not spotting Granger, stepped out the door to get out of the slightly claustrophobic establishment. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face, but he renewed his warming charm and leaned back against the window, wondering when Granger would finally be out, before he glanced across the street and stiffened.

Potter was standing alongside the Weaslette in front of the sporting goods shop, Spintwitches, holding her hand as they peered into the window at a new broom model. The Weaslette was gesticulating with her free hand as if illustrating a Quidditch move and Potter was listening obediently, smiling slightly from what Draco could see of his half turned away face. Draco hastily looked away and made to go back into Honeydukes, but the door opened and Granger exited, carrying a slightly larger haul than his own.

"Oh, Draco, there you are," she stated breathlessly, patting down her hair in a harassed manner. "I managed to find Ron's favorite things, but I might find more at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"Right," Draco stated hastily, wanting to escape Potter and his date as soon as possible. "Let's go then."

Granger sent him an incredulous look as he grabbed her bag and hustled her down the street. "I didn't know you'd be so eager to set foot in a Weasley establishment."

"I've changed," Draco replied. "You said so yourself."

She sent him a suspicious look, and then glanced behind her and frowned. "Oh, _honestly_. What happened between you two?"

Draco stiffened, but he didn't slow his pace. "I don't know who you're referring to."

"You know very well who I'm referring to, Draco Malfoy," she stated testily. "And I want to know why you've been avoiding each other ever since the Animagus lesson."

"Ask Potter," Draco snapped. "He's the one who's been avoiding me, not the other way around."

"Then why is he watching you as if you've stolen the snitch right from under his nose?"

"What?" Draco questioned incredulously. "He's never done anything of the sort."

Granger raised a challenging eyebrow and pointedly glanced back behind them. Draco couldn't help but glance back as well, although when he did, he saw Potter following the Weaslette into Spintwitches, appearing perfectly oblivious to his presence.

He glared back at Granger, but she set her mouth into a stubborn frown. "He _had_ been watching you just up until that point."

"That's a very convenient argument," Draco observed.

Granger sighed exasperatedly. "Fine, believe what you will, but you're both being ridiculous."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, but he didn't comment. As far as he was concerned, he was the victim in this scenario. Potter was the one insisting on being his friend one moment and shunning him the next. How else was Draco supposed to act?

They stepped into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which had taken over the old premises of Zonko's Joke shop and proudly shouted 'Grand Opening!' at them the moment they entered. Ears ringing, Draco followed Granger past the blindingly pink WonderWitch section into the no less crowded joke product section. The space was a mess of color and noise as students bustled about, trying out the products to chaotic effect. Granger had just moved toward a packet entitled Reusable Hangman when something exploded with a loud bang in the back and Weasley emerged from a cloud of purple smoke, coughing violently.

"Ron!" Granger exclaimed, running to his side. "What happened? What are you doing here?"

He put up a forefinger and doubled over, wheezing for a moment, and she patted him on the back worriedly.

He shook his head and stood up. He was wearing goggles and he pulled them off, leaving his face completely purple, except for the bit around his eyes. He coughed again. "I knew I should have worn a mask."

"Have you been experimenting with George again?" Granger questioned. "Is he here?"

Weasley nodded. "Yeah, he's in the back."

"Is he all right?" Granger asked, agitatedly glancing at the back of the shop, which was rapidly clearing of smoke.

"He should be. He had the mask," Weasley murmured bitterly then he caught sight of Draco and scowled. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco opened his mouth, but Granger intercepted him. "He came in with me. I wanted to buy you something."

Weasley frowned, but then he just shook his head at her. "If I wanted anything, I could just get it. I practically work here."

"Well," she began, holding up her bag of Honeydukes sweets. "I bought you these, at any rate."

He took them from her and peered into the bag, pulling out a Chocolate Frog. "My favorite. You didn't have to –"

"I wanted to," she insisted. "Just accept it."

His purple expression visibly softened and he kissed her on the lips, making them purple as well. "Thanks."

Draco wanted to retch, but he abstained. He reckoned not even Granger would take that kindly.

"Oy, Ron! You alright?" George Weasley emerged from the back, his face purple-free and a plastic face mask perched on his head. Draco remembered him from Hogwarts, of course, but now he looked older than he should have with tired bags under his eyes and an oddly grim expression that didn't quite leave his face even while he smiled.

"I'll live," the younger Weasley replied. "Although, next time, I'm wearing the mask."

"But where's the fun in that?" George questioned, although the good humor didn't quite reach his eyes. His eyes suddenly locked on Draco and his expression lost all humor entirely. "Malfoy."

"Weasley," Draco nodded stiffly.

"He came with me to buy some things," Granger explained, although even she appeared uncomfortable.

"Did he?" George asked, his tone deceptively light. "Would you like to see what I've got in the back, Malfoy? I'm testing a new product that lops off a limb and grows it back, although the growing back bit is still a bit dodgy."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure?" George asked darkly. "Because to me you look like you could stand to lose a few pounds."

"We'll just be going," Granger stated nervously and she grabbed Draco's arm, pulling him toward the door. Draco caught sight of George scowling at him just before Granger turned him around.

They squeezed through the crowd and made it back out onto the cold street. Weasley joined them a moment later, and he sent Granger a look, but she shook her head. Draco frowned and looked away uncomfortably, knowing that he should leave.

"Look," Weasley stated lowly to Granger. "I have to go back inside and help George. Harry and Ginny said they're going to the Three Broomsticks at three. They wanted to meet us there."

"Alright," Granger agreed then she glanced at Draco, and Weasley frowned. "Do you want to –?"

Draco shook his head, not needing to see Weasley's scowl to know that he wasn't wanted. He didn't fancy sitting with Potter on his date when Potter clearly didn't want him either, and he didn't think it wise to enter a pub where he'd Imperiused the land lady. "No, I'm going back to the castle."

Granger stared at him sorrowfully, and he looked away, tired of people's pity. "Ok, I'll see you later then."

Draco nodded and pushed off from the wall, making his way back up the street alone. He passed groups of students with barely a glance in their direction, striving to be as unobtrusive as possible. But the moment he passed the Three Broomsticks, he spotted something he couldn't ignore. Potter and the Weaslette were snogging in the alley between the pub and Dervish and Banges. The Weaslette's hands were in his hair and Potter's hands were resting on her slim waist, pulling her close. Draco told himself to look away, but he couldn't. Then Potter's eyes opened and he was suddenly looking straight back at him. Draco tensed and Potter stiffened, pulling away from the Weaslette and appearing oddly flustered. The Weaslette pulled back bemusedly and looked about, but Draco suddenly found his sense and forced himself to move. He walked away quickly, cursing himself, and never once looking back. Potter knew about his Patronus, and now he'd seen him standing there, watching him kiss his girlfriend like a complete prat. It was utterly humiliating.

He was so trapped in his brooding thoughts as he exited the village that he completely missed the ambush until he was surrounded. Before he could react, he was hit with a tripping jinx and slammed into the ground.

His attackers laughed above him, and Draco gingerly turned over and pushed himself up into a sitting position, noting warily that there were five Gryffindors pointing their wands down at him, two of whom he recognized. Nigel Wolpert and Jimmy Peakes, the two Gryffindors who had been threatening Harper a week prior and the two who had tripped him with a jinx in the hall two weeks before that. He glared up at them. "I'm not in the mood for this."

"Too bad," Wolpert sneered. "We've been meaning to get back at you for those points we lost."

"Is that what this is about?" Draco questioned disparagingly, wiping off the small stones that had embedded in his chin. "How petty."

Wolpert frowned and Peakes cut in. "That's a laugh coming from you, Death Eater."

Draco moved to reach for his wand, but the other Gryffindors stiffened, their wands at the ready, and he stopped. "It's not very brave or noble of you to attack a wizard five to one. I thought you were Gryffindors."

"We are," one of the others cut in. "But you don't deserve a fair fight."

"You sound like a Slytherin now," Draco sneered. "I suppose it makes sense, nobility and courage can only get you so far."

"Shut it, Malfoy," one of the others piped up, scowling at him. "We'll make you wish you never came back to Hogwarts."

 _Too late_ , Draco thought, but he didn't voice it. "So what will you do with me now? Rough me up a bit? You'll get expelled."

A couple of his assailants looked at each other uncertainly, but Wolpert scowled down at him. "It would be worth it."

"Nigel, maybe we should back off," a particularly small Gryffindor stated shakily. "We've done what we came to do, and I don't want to get expelled."

"I don't care what McGonagall does. She shouldn't have let him into Hogwarts," Wolpert snapped. "He belongs in Azkaban for everything he's done."

"That's stupid," another Gryffindor accused. "I'm not going to get tossed out over him."

"You scared?" Peakes questioned with a scowl.

"Of course not!" the other denied. "I'm just not an idiot."

"You calling me an idiot?" Peakes asked angrily.

"If the wand fits," the other retorted.

Peakes bristled and Draco used the distraction to pull out his wand. He stood up and pointed it at Wolpert.

"Shit!" one of the Gryffindors exclaimed from behind him. Draco heard the buzz of a hex and ducked. The bright blast flew over his head and hit Peakes in the chest. He fell to the ground, out cold, and everyone paused, stunned.

Draco moved to escape, tripping over Peake's immobilized body, and the Gryffindors ran after him, shooting hexes at his back. He shot a stinging hex behind him and someone screamed, he didn't bother glancing back to see who he'd hit. He saw the Hogwarts gate and he stumbled toward it, but then something large and hairy stepped into his path. He collided with it and fell back to the ground painfully, cursing.

"What's all this?"

Draco's pursuers slid to a halt behind him and he warily looked up at Hagrid's hirsute face.

"He attacked us, Professor!" one of the Gryffindors insisted.

"Only after they attacked me," Draco sneered, but he doubted the oaf would believe him.

Hagrid frowned down at him, clearly unimpressed. He glanced back at the Gryffindors. "Get yer friend to the Infirmary an' stop the swelling. Malfoy, I'm takin' yeh to the Headmistress."

Draco scowled, but he didn't argue. It wouldn't be of any use. Someone moaned behind him and he glanced back to see Wolpert's face heavily swollen from his hex. Draco smiled grimly.

"Jimmy Peakes is still back there, hit with a stunner," another Gryffindor explained.

"I'll get 'im," Hagrid boomed. He sent Draco a distrustful look. "Yeh stay righ' here, Malfoy."

Draco nodded stiffly and stood up. The Gryffindors smirked at him, but they didn't do anything as Hagrid made his way back with Peakes slung over his shoulder like a sack of slugs. Hagrid lay Peakes down on the ground beside Wolpert and the Gryffindor who was holding him up.

"He's fine, jus' unconscious," Hagrid stated. "Do any of yeh know the levitation charm?"

The Gryffindors nodded.

"Levitate him to the Infirmary too," Hagrid instructed. "He'll recover quick enough."

They did as he said and left, Wolpert moaning for full effect.

Hagrid looked down at Draco and gestured toward the castle. "Let's go, Malfoy."

Draco moved toward the gate and Hagrid followed him from behind, as if he was afraid he'd try to escape. The Hogwarts grounds were cold and his warming charm had long since expired, but he didn't dare use his wand with the giant watching him. He was shivering by the time they made it to the steps, and dreading his visit with McGonagall, but just then, the front doors opened and Professor Proudfoot stepped out, taking in the scene with her electric blue eyes.

"Is there a problem, Hagrid?"

"Not anymore," Hagrid replied. "I'm takin' this one to the Headmistress. He attacked some Gryffindors in Hogsmeade."

"They ambushed me," Draco insisted, ignoring Hagrid and staring up at Proudfoot.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line, but she glanced back at Hagrid and stated, "I will take him. He's due for another detention, anyway."

Hagrid appeared conflicted, but then he relented. "Alrigh', but don' take his word for it. He's done worse things than this."

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied dryly.

Hagrid stepped away and trudged back toward his hut. Proudfoot watched him for a bit, before raising a thin eyebrow at Draco and turning around to step back into the Entrance Hall. Draco followed warily, unsure what she had in store for him. He didn't much feel like sparring at the moment. She led him to her office and sat down in her hard, wooden chair.

"Sit," she ordered, indicating the Spartan chair across from her desk.

Draco obeyed, ignoring the lingering pain in his tail bone.

"What happened?" she questioned.

"They ambushed me," Draco repeated. "They hit me with a tripping jinx then one of them missed me and hit another with a stunner. I made my escape and they gave chase, so I hexed the ringleader. I was simply defending myself."

She stared at him, a small frown tugging at her lips. "And how did they come to ambush you in the first place?"

Draco frowned. "I was distracted."

"Well, that was your first mistake," she stated. "You could have avoided such a confrontation, but you let them surround you."

"I was the victim in this situation," Draco retorted frustratedly.

"If you think like that, you always will be," she informed him.

Draco closed his mouth and glared at her. He was sick of this. His horrible day was only getting worse, and here this woman was, telling him it was all his fault. Just like everything else, apparently.

She leaned forward over her desk and stared at him disapprovingly. "I think you've had quite enough dueling for today. I have some equipment for next lesson that needs cleaning." She conjured a bucket and a sponge. "Use this to scrub it."

She stood up and opened a large trunk that was sitting by the window. "It's all in there."

Draco clenched his jaw, but got up and peered down into the trunk. It was larger than it looked from the outside and the equipment was piled high within. He grimaced. He could tell it was going to take hours for him to clean. She watched him expectantly and he nodded stiffly. She took a seat back at her desk, and Draco wearily fell to his hands and knees and got to work.

He was exhausted by the time she dismissed him, and his entire body ached, especially his kneecaps. The castle was dark and he cast a tempus to find that it was time for dinner. He stopped by the kitchens, eating his meal there in favor of carrying it up to the tower.

By the time he made it up to the Gryffin portal, he was just about ready to drop, but the moment he stepped past the threshold he heard something in the common room that made him stop.

"…keep stringing her along! It isn't fair to her."

"I'm not –"

"Yes, you are, Harry James Potter. What are you so afraid of? Death? You've already conquered that."

"I'm not afraid of dying."

"No, you're afraid of _living_."

The room went silent for longer than was warranted, and Draco realized they must have noticed the open portal. He stepped through it warily to find Granger and Potter both standing in front of the fire place, staring back at him, before Potter looked away, frowning.

Granger sighed into the tense silence and gathered her things. "I'm going to the Great Hall."

She sent one last look at Potter, but he ignored her, staring into the flames. She frowned and glanced at Draco exasperatedly as she passed him out the portal, leaving him alone with Potter.

Draco stepped forward uncertainly. He'd never seen Potter so shaken up, and for once, his concern trumped his instinct to escape. "What was that about?"

"It's nothing," Potter denied roughly, not even looking at him.

"Bullocks," Draco muttered disbelievingly.

Potter glanced back at him, before standing up. He walked toward him, his expression uncommonly upset, and Draco resisted the urge to step back. Potter stopped in front of him and raised his hand as if to reach for him, but then stopped. He looked away, his expression pained. His voice was rough and broken when he spoke. "Just stay away from me, alright?"

And then he was gone, escaping out the portal. Draco stood there, staring at nothing, a lump in his throat.

That was it. He was done. Potter could just go bugger himself for all he cared.

He trudged up the spiral staircase to the dormitory, and pulled off his dirty clothes. He collapsed into his four-poster, aching all over, but no place more so than in his chest.

For some reason, the green eyed wolf was staring back at him behind his eyelids, and he banished the image. He was sick of it and the dreams, sick of Potter and his moods. He didn't want to deal with any of it anymore, and apparently, Potter agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough chapter, and a struggle to write, but it's a sort of prequel to the next. Please don't hate Harry too much. He's going through his own issues that haven't entirely been revealed. I hope you stick with me for the next update. As always, thank you so much for reading and your kind comments.


	15. I Can Still See Some Flecks of Fear

The library was mercifully quiet at five in the morning that Sunday. Draco tucked himself away at a small table in a fenestrated nook that overlooked the Quidditch pitch, and read further into his Potions textbook, taking notes. As they were only brewing three potions that semester, he didn't need to read about less difficult potions like the Calming Draught, but it was the only subject that could distract him enough from his sour mood.

That is, until hours later, when he inevitably ran out of black ink. He hissed a curse and Vanished his ink pot for good measure. When he'd pondered buying some more at Scrivenshafts the day before, he hadn't realized precisely how low he was, otherwise, he would have swallowed his pride and gotten Granger to buy him some from the old git behind the counter later in the day. He realized his only recourse now was to order some from Diagon Alley and hope that the proprietor of Scribbulus Writing Instruments wasn't nearly so opposed to his patronage. Although, that might be a stretch, given that the shop had once been ransacked by Death Eaters during the war.

Students began to trickle into the library, and Draco stared out at the pitch, a weight settling in his stomach. The sky was only partly cloudy today and sunlight hit the grass in an ever changing, glowing patchwork. It was a mildly pleasant sight until several Eighth Years, headed by Finnigan, stepped out onto the pitch, brooms in hand. Draco scowled then jolted when someone set something down on his table with a soft clink. He glanced over to see Granger taking the seat opposite, and then noticed the black ink pot now sitting on the table between them.

She pushed it forward. "It looks like you need this."

He stared at her, before he dipped his quill into it and resumed his note taking. Despite the gift, he wasn't sure if he wanted her company or not. She was too perceptive for her own good, and she tended to ask uncomfortable questions. He didn't know if he could handle that just about now, so he remained silent.

Mercifully, she didn't say anything. She only pulled her things out of her bag, including another ink pot, and got to work, scribbling away on some parchment with her old quill. The hours wiled away this way, and he worked in companionable silence with her until she began to repack her book bag.

"It's time for lunch," she stated. "Are you coming?"

Draco's stomach felt empty, but he just shook his head.

She paused in her packing and sighed, staring at him in concern. "What happened yesterday?"

Draco paused, then turned the page in his text book, pointedly not meeting her gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Harry's been acting strange. After you left Hogsmeade, Ron and I met Harry and Ginny at the Three Broomsticks, and he was incredibly irritable," Granger replied. "He barely spoke and when he did, he snapped at us. The rest of the time he ignored us entirely, even when we tried to speak to him, but when we asked him what was wrong, he said he was fine. Ginny was obviously fed up with him, and she told me afterward that he'd been fine all day until just moments before they'd entered the pub. She thought she saw you walking down the street just before Harry's mood changed, and she suspected that somehow you'd done something to him."

Draco looked up at her and scowled. "What could I have done? Spiked his morning pumpkin juice with the Draught of Insufferable Prat? I know the Weaslette hates me, but that's paranoid, even for her."

Granger sighed. "I didn't agree with her, of course, but something's wrong with Harry, and she's worried."

"Potter's just being an arse," Draco muttered bitterly.

"Maybe so, but it's more than that," Granger insisted. "I haven't seen him this upset since Fifth Year, and that was after he'd witnessed Cedric's death and started to suspect that Voldemort was possessing him. I just want to know if anything happened between you two in Hogsmeade yesterday."

"Why would you think I had anything to do with it?" Draco questioned irritably. "Potter's perfectly capable of becoming an arsekettle on his own. He's demonstrated that well enough throughout the years."

Granger frowned at him, then looked down at her hands on the tabletop and bit her lip. "Because you're the only one who's been able to get under his skin since the war ended. Harry had been distant and lifeless all summer and none of us had ever gotten through to him until you came along. Haven't you ever wondered why that is?"

Draco stared at her, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to think about Potter anymore. Potter had told him in no uncertain terms what he wanted Draco to do. Potter didn't want him around. End of story. Maybe he'd wanted him around when they were friends, but the moment Potter realized Draco's feelings were more than platonic, that had apparently changed. He was clearly disgusted by him, and couldn't stand being around him. What more was there to understand?

She stared at him, clearly disappointed by what she saw in his eyes.

"He's afraid of you," she stated softly, and then she got up and picked up her things. "But not for the reasons you think."

Draco stared at her, nonplussed, as she walked away. He grimaced down at his notes. Granger didn't know what she was talking about. Potter wasn't scared of him. Potter wasn't afraid of anything. Disgusted, maybe, but not afraid.

He couldn't help remembering the dreams he'd had, and the horror in Potter's eyes as he'd come back from the dead, but those were just dreams. They had little basis in reality, even if they were disturbingly prophetic. Draco shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts, but he soon became so distracted by them that he couldn't focus on potions anymore. He sat in the library, staring out the window listlessly, until it grew dark and he could no longer see the pitch through the paned glass.

He left and ate dinner in the kitchens again, avoiding the Great Hall entirely. When he entered the tower, no one was there, and he gratefully climbed the stairs to the equally empty dormitory. It was early, but he'd gotten up early, so he was fittingly exhausted, and he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

He awoke the next morning oddly calm with the vague memory of carding soft black fur through his fingers and pressing his cheek against the rumble of a steady heart beat. It took him a second to realize that Weasley was speaking loudly on the other side of his bed curtains.

"…him here last night?"

"I dunno," Longbottom sleepily replied, he sounded like he had just woken up as well. "I didn't see him."

"Did anyone else see Harry in the dorm last night?" Weasley questioned.

"I didn't," Boot replied. "But I had a late night in the library. It was dark by the time I came back."

There was a long pause.

"Is something wrong?" Longbottom questioned into the silence.

Weasley shifted. "I dunno. Probably not…but…he was gone all of yesterday too." He let out a frustrated breath.

"Maybe he came back late and left early," Longbottom offered hopefully.

"Yeah," Weasley agreed slowly, but he didn't sound convinced.

"Check the Great Hall," Corner suggested, his voice a bit rough from sleep. "He's probably there for breakfast."

"Right," Weasley replied. "Thanks."

The door opened and closed and there was a long silence, before Corner spoke. "Something must be wrong. Ron sounded worried."

"I'm sure Harry's fine," Longbottom insisted.

"I don't know," Boot muttered. "I saw him roaming the halls two nights ago, looking peaky."

"When was that?" Corner questioned.

"When I left the library," Boot replied. "Around midnight."

There was a moment of silence and then Corner asked, "Do you think he's cracked?"

"What do you mean?" Longbottom questioned agitatedly.

"Well, I mean," Corner began. His bed creaked as if he was leaning toward them, and his voice lowered considerably. "He had a piece of You-Know-Who's soul inside of him, didn't he? That could drive anyone mad."

"Not Harry," Longbottom retorted firmly. "Voldemort could never possess him, not without hurting himself, and now every piece of him has gone."

"He had a piece of You-Know-Who's soul in him for _seventeen_ years," Corner insisted. "We can't know what kind of effect that's had on his mind, even belatedly."

Draco pushed open his curtains, startling Corner, Longbottom, and Boot who all stared at him warily.

"Don't comment on things you don't understand," Draco stated coldly.

Longbottom immediately appeared ashamed and Boot tensed, but Corner scowled.

"And what would you know about it, Malfoy?" he questioned as Draco retrieved his wand from under his pillow and stood up.

Draco raised an eyebrow, accioing the shower supplies out of his trunk in a show of forced casualness. "I know more about it than you, believe me."

"I doubt that," Corner challenged.

Draco stared at him, then carefully placed his things back down on his mattress and stepped forward, rolling up the sleeve of his left arm. He thrust his forearm into Corner's face and Corner reflexively leaned backward. Draco pointed at the pale skin just above the underside of his wrist and Corner glanced down at it uneasily. Draco's voice was cold. "I had his Mark right here. It may not have been a piece of his soul, but it was a piece of his power, and I felt every moment he was pleased or angry. If he had wanted to, he could have killed me through it, and I lived in fear every day that he would. Nothing short of cutting off my own arm would have been able remove it, that or his death, but the latter seemed impossible. I can't say I hadn't contemplated following through with the former once or twice. The moment Potter killed him, I was free and so was Potter. The Dark Lord no longer had a hold on either of us. "

He leaned back, and rolled his sleeve back down. Corner stared up at him, his mouth agape, and Longbottom and Boot were wearing similarly shocked expressions.

"So yes," Draco muttered grimly. "I know more about it than you do."

Draco turned to pick up his things in the thick silence, but then Corner muttered, "How do we know you're not barking mad too?"

Draco stiffened, and then glanced back at him. "You don't. But Potter isn't me. I didn't have to sacrifice a limb to gain my freedom, but Potter had to sacrifice himself. The least he deserves is a lifetime free of pointless speculation on his questionable mental state by twits like you."

The room fell suitably silent, and Draco stalked to the bathroom, but the moment he closed the door behind him, he released a shaky breath. It felt strange speaking up for Potter after everything that had happened between them, but he couldn't help defending him from ignorant prats. He also couldn't deny that he was growing a bit worried. Between the disturbingly prophetic dreams and Granger and Weasley's agitation, he was beginning to wonder if something really was wrong.

He undressed and stepped into the hot water of the shower, resting his forehead against the tile and biting his lip. Maybe he was just being stupid. Maybe nothing was wrong at all. It sounded as though Potter hadn't slept in the dorm the night before, but for all Weasley knew, Potter could have shared the Weaslette's bed in Gryffindor. If that was the case, Potter wouldn't have told his plans to her brother, even if said brother was his best mate. Draco grimaced. That was probably it. Potter was just taking his relationship to the next level, and his only agitation stemmed from his unease around Draco.

But then Draco sighed. That argument sounded weak, even to him. After all, even if Potter had become agitated in Hogsmeade because Draco had spied him and the Weaslette snogging, why would Potter be roaming the halls two nights ago in the peaked manner Boot had described when he'd already told Draco off? Wouldn't he be content now that Draco was staying away from him? It didn't make any sense. Potter should be happy now, but by all accounts he wasn't.

Draco shook his head, spraying water onto the walls. He didn't understand it. Potter didn't make any sense, and it was driving Draco mad, which was ridiculous. Draco shouldn't even be thinking about him anymore, let alone worrying about him. Potter didn't even want his concern, that much was clear. It was better that he just leave it alone.

Determined to forget about it, he stepped out of the shower and dressed. He wanted to go to the kitchens before Ancient Runes, but he bumped into Weasley coming through the portal. Weasley spared him a glare, but then stopped, blocking his path out. Draco frowned at him, but Weasley just shook his head.

"Have you seen Harry?" It seemed to take a lot out of him to ask, worry flashing in his eyes.

Draco opened his mouth around an insult but then closed it, and shook his head. "No, not since the night before last."

"When?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Right before I killed him and hid him in the broom closet," Draco deadpanned.

Weasley's eyes actually widened in shock, before he seemed to realize Draco was having him on, and scowled.

Draco glared back, wishing he could hex him right between the eyes. "Have you checked your sister's bed?"

" _Merlin_ , Malfoy!" Weasley looked like he might be sick, but he managed to glare at him all the same. "If you must know, Ginny was actually at breakfast, and she hasn't seen him since Hogsmeade either."

"Of course she would say that," Draco sneered.

"Whatever," Weasley growled, before pushing past him. "I don't know why I bothered. Harry isn't even talking to you anymore."

Draco glared at him, but Weasley was already running up the steps to the dorm. Draco clenched his wand hand in frustration, and then stalked out the portal. He pushed his way indiscriminately through the crowds of younger students, ignoring their shocked exclamations and glares. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows in bright glowing shafts, but he stuck to the shadows, befitting his mood.

By the time he tickled the pear and entered the kitchens, his stomach felt like a lead weight had grown inside it and he was barely hungry, but he sat down anyway at the coaxing of the Hogwarts Elves. It was apparent that Nibby had grown quite fond of him, and she immediately brought him his favorite foods.

Draco stared at the veritable tower of pancakes dripping in maple syrup, certainly too much for one human being to eat, but Nibby just patted him on the hand and stated, "We is worried for sir's health. He is not been eating enough."

Draco frowned down at her as she watched him earnestly with her large, bulbous eyes. "Er…Thank you, Nibby, but I doubt I'll be able to finish it."

"We is being able to pack it up when you is done, sir," she insisted. "Sir is not wasting anything."

Draco stared at her wearily, too tired to argue. "Right."

She nodded happily and he dug in, trying to eat as much as he could, but determined to Vanish the leftovers the moment the Elves weren't looking. Once he managed it, Nibby looked as though she might burst out of her skin with excitement when she spotted his empty plate. "You is a very healthy eater, sir!"

"Clearly," he agreed, but made his escape before she could figure out how he'd managed to leave the plates so conspicuously spotless.

The halls were more crowded now that breakfast in the Great Hall had ended, especially once he waded through the sea of bodies in the Entrance Hall. Granger caught up with him near the Ancient Runes classroom, but she appeared distinctly frazzled.

"You haven't seen Harry, have you?"

Draco frowned irritably. "No, I haven't."

Granger bit her lip, her eyebrows knitting. "No one's seen him since the night before last."

"Owl the Daily Prophet," Draco drawled, pretending he didn't care.

"Draco, this is serious," Granger insisted.

"He's of age, Granger, and it was the weekend. He's allowed to leave the grounds," Draco stated carelessly in an attempt to mask his growing concern. "He's probably just tossed off somewhere to brood."

She frowned at him, but didn't say anything more as they entered the classroom and took their seats. They didn't speak to each other for the entire lesson as Professor Babbling lectured on the long history of wars that had started due to the mistranslation of runes in ancient magical texts ( _"The dangers of miscommunication cannot be overstated!"_ ). Nor did they speak as they made their way down to the Green Houses. Granger was clearly upset with him, but Draco wasn't going to allow himself to care. Potter wouldn't want him to, after all. He'd made that perfectly clear two nights ago. Besides, Potter could take care of himself. He'd probably gone off to visit someone without telling his friends, and he'd be back in time for lessons.

But when they stepped into the Green House, Potter wasn't present amongst the other Eighth Years, and Weasley appeared distinctly troubled as Granger approached him at the front. Draco stayed in the back near his usual potting station, attempting to remain nonchalant, but he couldn't help glancing at the door every time a new student entered.

Finally, Professor Sprout arrived and began the lesson. Draco frowned. Longbottom, who had been watching the door as well, sent Draco a questioning look, before he was called up by Sprout to help her demonstrate how to properly trim and mash the leaves of an Alihotsy tree without devolving into hysteria.

When Longbottom had finished his instruction, Draco trimmed his Alihotsy distractedly, trying not to notice Weasley and Granger as they ignored their tree and spoke to each other in hushed voices. Others about the room had apparently taken notice of their odd behavior as well, particularly Corner and Boot. Every once and a while, Corner would glance at Draco suspiciously before looking away. Draco ignored him, but he couldn't help glancing at the door every so often. Potter wasn't usually one to skive off lessons, and as the clock at the back chimed the hour, Draco could no longer deny his growing disquiet.

But then, just as he began to mash his leaves into a fine paste, the glass door creaked open and Potter stepped through the threshold. Everyone stared, but Potter barely looked at anyone as he closed the door quietly behind him.

"Mr. Potter?" Sprout questioned, stepping into view from behind a particularly large and vicious shrub. "You're late."

Potter nodded, his expression properly contrite. Draco frowned at the distinct bags under his eyes and his bedraggled appearance. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in days. "Sorry, Professor."

Professor Sprout frowned, but her eyes showed her concern. "Alright, but don't let it happen again."

"Yes, Professor," Potter muttered, before making his way toward a highly bewildered looking Weasley. Granger was eyeing him with barely concealed concern as he approached, but when she opened her mouth, Potter looked away from her and she frowned instead.

Granger glanced at Draco then, but he immediately looked away and went back to mashing his leaves. He was angry with Potter for making him worry, and angry with himself for worrying in the first place. A couple of students eyed Potter and murmured amongst themselves, but soon they were all suitably distracted by their task, even as Weasley attempted to engage Potter in conversation. Potter just shook his head a lot, hardly speaking, and eventually, Weasley went silent, although he continued to send him speculative glances every few minutes.

When the lesson was over, Draco left as soon as he could, opting to spend his lunch alone by the lake. No one came looking for him, and he stared out at the calm water broodingly as it glistened in the sunlight. He suspected Potter was currently enjoying a hero's welcome back in the Great Hall as all of his concerned friends rejoiced in his triumphant return from his day long absence. Draco suspected that if he, himself, had done such a thing no one would have even batted an eyelash. Certainly, Potter wouldn't have.

Draco scowled and lay back on the grass, his eyesight going out of focus as he stared up at the swaying leaves of the oak. Then he sighed wearily, his chest aching as his umbrage diminished. He couldn't deny that Potter hadn't looked well back in the Green House. He'd appeared listless and haunted as he'd trimmed his leaves. Something was wrong. He wasn't acting himself. Draco remembered Potter sitting beside him in this very spot barely a week ago, telling him that he didn't want their friendship to end, even after he'd discovered how Draco felt. Why had that changed? It didn't make any sense. Nothing Potter was doing made any sense.

He had potions next, which he dreaded. At this point, he didn't know if he could stand breathing in the Amortentia for an hour and a half. He tried to convince himself that it might have lost its effect on him, but even after everything that had happened and everything he'd promised to himself two nights ago, he knew his feelings for Potter hadn't diminished. He felt out of control. As far as he could tell by this point, his feelings served no purpose but to torture him, but they were always there, lingering beneath the surface. Especially when Potter was near. He entertained skiving off Potions entirely, but when it was time, he dutifully got up and made his way into the castle.

Draco was one of the last to enter the classroom, the coiling steam from the ever present cauldron of completed Amortentia on Slughorn's desk already filling the room. He breathed in the scent of ozone, sweets, and Potter, and grimaced, before wading through the curling fog toward his shared desk with Longbottom. Longbottom nodded to him dreamily, the haze of requited love evident in his soft smile and unfocused gaze. Draco nodded back stiffly, his chest aching more and more with every breath. He couldn't help but glance up at Potter, his scent all around him. He expected to find him completely unaffected by the noxious fog, as he had been the previous Potions lesson, but Potter's expression was distinctly pained, his eyebrows knitted as he stared at the cauldron in the middle of the room. Draco frowned, but Potter seemed to notice him staring and looked back at him. Draco hastily looked away, mentally berating himself, and set about retrieving his and Longbottom's unfinished potion from their cauldron in the store cupboard.

Slughorn entered the room from his office and, with a swish of his wand, posted the next steps on the blackboard behind his desk. He bid them to continue and the Eighth Years fumbled to comply, most all of them beset by the Amortentia's fumes. Draco set a new fire beneath their cauldron and went about extracting the rose thorns, which was already a tricky business without the distraction of Potter's scent enveloping him like a warm blanket. He delegated the less difficult task of chopping the peppermint to Longbottom, who was absently humming to himself.

Draco was determined to ignore Potter for the rest of the lesson, but every once and a while he got the distinct impression that Potter was watching him, and he couldn't avoid glancing back. Each time he did, however, Potter hastily looked away, a frown tugging at his lips as he distractedly cut his peppermint finer and finer until it was practically a paste. In fact, he appeared nearly as preoccupied as Weasley, who was unsuccessfully attempting to extract the rose thorns from their stems with his bare fingers. Granger, who still appeared remarkably clear-headed, was sending Weasley and Potter concerned looks every once and a while from her seat beside Turpin, but she could do little to help them. Draco frowned, sharing her concern. In past lessons, Potter had been lucid enough to intercept any mistakes, but with both Potter and Weasley so distracted, it was a recipe for disaster.

Draco's Amortentia began to boil and he had to look away to add the thorns, but inevitably, a moment later, something exploded on the right side of the room. A couple of girls screamed and Draco looked over to see Potter and Weasley covered in dark brown sludge, their cauldron destroyed and leaking the rest of their unfinished potion onto the floor.

Slughorn bustled out of his office, appearing highly distressed as he took in the scene. "Oh dear! What happened, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley?"

"I dunno, Professor," Weasley muttered weakly.

Potter merely stood there beside him, clearly upset as the brown sludge slid down his face and onto his robes.

Slughorn waved his wand and Vanished the sludge from both of them, then gasped when he noticed Weasley's bleeding fingers. "Well, I daresay you added blood to your potion. It would certainly explain the outcome. Blood is a powerful substance and not to be added to any concoction carelessly. I'm afraid you will both have to start over."

Weasley nodded shakily and Potter looked away, his expression inscrutable, but there was something lingering in his eyes that disturbed Draco to no end.

"You can begin it again this coming Saturday in the morning, but it will take just as long to brew," Slughorn continued. "I'm afraid this will be taken out of your final marks."

Weasley nodded again, looking miserable, and Slughorn sighed. "You are both dismissed for today."

Potter jerkily gathered up his things and stalked out, leaving Weasley to clean up the mess. Weasley shared a look with Granger, before he Vanished the broken cauldron and gathered the leftover ingredients. He left shortly after, nursing his bleeding fingers.

Throughout the rest of the lesson, Draco tried not to think about Potter, but it was hard with the fog all around him. Potter's expression just before he'd left the room replayed over and over in Draco's head.

When the lesson was finally over, Granger hurriedly packed up her things and sent Draco an imploring look as she passed him. He looked away and shook his head. He didn't know what she wanted from him, but if it involved Potter, there was nothing he could do. She frowned disappointedly and then she was gone.

He packed up his things and went to the kitchens for dinner, trying to ignore his unease. It was late when he finally left, but his nerves made him feel oddly awake. When he entered the tower, Granger was alone in the common room, sitting on the couch and staring into the fire.

"He's gone again," she stated, before looking back at him. "He wasn't in the Great Hall and we can't find him anywhere on the grounds."

Draco stared at her. He didn't have to ask who she was talking about.

"He won't talk to us, and he won't even look at Ginny," she continued. "There's something wrong. He's suffering and it's worse than before."

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco asked warily, stepping up to the couch.

"Because you can help him," Granger replied, her expression determined.

"No, I can't," Draco denied, his frustration with her boiling over.

"Draco…"

"Granger," Draco interrupted heatedly. "He told me to stay away from him. He doesn't want me around, and if he doesn't talk to you than he certainly won't talk to me."

"That's because he's afraid. You have a better chance than any of us of getting through to him," Granger insisted. "He's protecting himself."

"From what?" Draco questioned. "From me? From my queer feelings for him? He's disgusted by me, Granger. He caught me watching him and his girlfriend snogging in Hogsmeade and he couldn't stomach my presence anymore."

Granger's eyes widened, but then her expression hardened.

"Then why is he avoiding all of us now?" she questioned. "If that's what was bothering him, if it was all about you, he'd be fine now, but he isn't. He won't even look at Ginny. He didn't tell her in so many words, but it's clear to her that he doesn't want to be around her either, and she's at her wit's end."

Draco stared at her and frowned. Her words echoed every doubt he'd already had, and he couldn't deny that her logic made sense. But Potter's attitude was still unfathomable. He couldn't understand why he was acting this way.

"Please, Draco," Granger stated, her brows knitting imploringly. "At least try to talk to him."

Draco shifted his stance uncomfortably and pushed a hand through his hair in agitation. "You don't even know where he is."

She gazed up at him grimly. "I have a guess."

 

* * *

 

Draco approached the shrieking shack with more than a little trepidation. The moon was bright and it cast the broken down building in odd, mismatched shadows that moved eerily every time the moth eaten drapes rippled through the broken windows. He stifled a shiver and wondered if Granger was having him on. She'd insisted the shack wasn't haunted, but it was difficult to believe her now that he stood at the foot of it. It was also hard to believe that Potter would choose to hide out here when the Dark Lord had used it as a base of operations just before the battle of Hogwarts, but Granger had been quite clear after showing him the marauder's map that she had seen Potter taking one of the secret passages toward the shack before he disappeared.

Swallowing his nerves, he pushed the broken door open and lit his wand before he stepped inside the shack's dusty confines. It was dark inside, but moonlight shined in through the cracks in the walls and the open windows, projecting odd glowing shapes across the floorboards. Draco stepped further inside cautiously, swinging his wand light around. As far as he could tell it was empty, with no furnishings and no sign that anyone had ever lived here. It made him doubt that anyone could possibly be here now. He still found himself holding his breath to keep silent, even when the floorboards creaked loudly beneath his feet.

The boards in the ceiling creaked and he tensed. Someone was moving around on the second floor. He pointed his wand light up at the wooden boards above him and waited. The creaking in the ceiling got louder and louder, until it stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs.

"Who's there?"

Draco relaxed minimally when he recognized Potter's voice. He pointed his wand light toward the stairs, alighting the flimsy, termite-eaten wood of each step, and took a deep breath. "It's me."

The ceiling creaked as Potter must have shifted his weight. "How did you find me?"

"Granger," Draco replied.

Potter let out a frustrated breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that," Draco hedged, and he looked around a bit at the dilapidated room he stood in. "I know you grew up in a cupboard, Potter, but you could do better."

Silence was his only reply.

Draco frowned, uncertain. "Granger and Weasley are worried about you."

"So why didn't they come?" Potter questioned finally, the words clipped.

Draco scowled. "Because you won't talk to them and Granger seems to think I can do better, which is ridiculous, I know, but I'd rather do as she says than argue with her."

"There's nothing to talk about," Potter denied in a rough voice. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

Draco scowled. He'd had enough of this. " _Damnit_ , Potter!" He released an angry breath and clenched his scarred palm around his wand. He stepped up to the bottom of the stairs and directed the bright blue beam of his wand light straight up at Potter's startled face. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

Potter frowned, but Draco wasn't finished. "You're a terrible liar, and you've been treating your friends like shit. You were absent for a day and a half, only to return looking like an Inferus, and now you're avoiding everyone by hiding in a broken-down shack. Anyone with half a brain can see that you are clearly _not_ fine!"

Potter winced from the light in his face, and his expression crumpled. He glanced away, looking miserable. He looked ill, the bags under his eyes set in stark relief in the bluish wand light, and Draco sighed, the anger slowly draining out of him.

"What's going on?" Draco questioned, his voice cracking. "Initially, I thought your foul mood was because of me and my…" He paused uncomfortably. Potter looked down at him, opening his mouth and then closing it again. Draco stared, waiting for him to say something, but Potter only closed his eyes, remaining silent. Pained, Draco forced himself to continue, his voice rough. "But that doesn't explain why you've been avoiding everyone else…especially your girlfriend." He grimaced. "It may not come as a shock to you that I'm not the Weaslette's biggest fan, but Granger tells me she's at her wits end with worry. I don't exactly like her, but I can understand the horrible position you've put her in. You've been a complete prat to her, and she'd be barking to put up with you."

"It's not…you don't… _I never wanted to_ …" Potter retorted incoherently, then he shut his mouth, evidently at a loss. He pushed a hand through his hair, pain and uncertainty evident in his eyes. He shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

Draco eyed him, frowning. "Try me."

Potter bit his bottom lip and Draco held his gaze steadily, willing him to break down. Potter grimaced, then nodded and turned around. Draco watched him disappear, uncertain if he should follow, but when Potter didn't reappear for a long moment, he climbed the stairs after him.

When he reached the top, he found Potter sitting on a moth-eaten bed with yellow covers, the only furniture in the room. The space was eerily lit by a ball of bright blue flame, floating in a jar that sat in the middle of the floor. Uncertain where to sit, Draco eventually decided on the bed as well, but made sure to leave a fair amount of space between them.

Potter just stared at the flame, looking defeated, and Draco was left to uncomfortably survey the room. "There aren't any windows."

Potter shook his head. "Remus Lupin used this shack for his monthly transformations when he was at Hogwarts. Back then, there weren't any windows on the bottom floor either, but I reckon Voldemort changed that when he moved in."

"I thought it was haunted," Draco muttered.

"That's what Dumbledore wanted everyone to believe," Potter replied. "He didn't want anyone disturbing Remus when he became a werewolf."

"Hm," Draco murmured vaguely and eyed Potter's profile. They fell into an uneasy silence.

After a long moment, Potter sighed and glanced back at him, his expression the picture of discomfort. "I don't know where to start, or how to…" He trailed off.

"Just start at the beginning," Draco muttered.

"That might take a while," Potter warned shakily.

"I have all night," Draco told him.

Potter eyed him, then nodded and looked back down at the blue flame. It was reflected in his glasses, hiding his green eyes.

"I don't know if you…" Potter paused and pushed his hand through his hair. "You might have overheard Ginny back in the Infirmary, when she confronted me about my summer at the burrow."

Draco nodded slowly, too tired to act ashamed that he had, in fact, been awake and eavesdropping on their conversation.

Potter nodded, clearly unsurprised. "It's true that I had nightmares…I still have them occasionally…but…" He paused, gnawing at his bottom lip. "They weren't nightmares, really. They didn't frighten me. It's not the dreams that were bad, it was waking up."

Draco stared at him, nonplussed, but he could see Potter waking up in his coffin with perfect clarity, his green eyes full of fear. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know…I…" Potter replied agitatedly and got up to pace. "Ever since that last night of the war, I'd felt like there was a piece of me still at King's Cross, deciding whether or not to board a train."

Draco stared at him, alarmed. "Are you saying you want to die?"

"No," Potter shook his head. " _No_ …It's not like that…it's…" he sighed frustratedly. "I just felt distant, somehow, like I wasn't quite here. My dreams felt more real than waking life. I saw my parents and Sirius and everyone I'd lost, and I felt everything. I wanted to be with them. When I woke up, I felt empty…I felt nothing…it wasn't too bad at first, it was almost comfortable…I didn't have to worry so much…I never got angry or sad or _anything_ …but then…"

Potter trailed off, his brows knit, and Draco stared at him. He remembered Potter in the infirmary, recovering from their duel in Defense, and his story didn't make any sense. "But you told me that had changed. You told me that I made you angry and you felt alive because of it. That that's what you wanted."

"Yeah," Potter nodded, no longer looking at him. "I did."

Draco stared at him in utter bemusement. "Then I don't understand. What's the problem?"

Potter finally looked back at him properly and his eyes were no longer dull or distant. The difference was overwhelming and Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. This was the Potter he remembered, his gaze unwavering and intense. There was so much pain there. Potter looked away and Draco found he could breathe again. Potter blinked. "I feel too much."

Draco stiffened. "I don't - "

"It's all because of you," Potter admitted roughly, still not looking at him. "And I can't…" He sucked in a shaky breath. "At first, I liked it. I liked being around you because you didn't treat me like everyone else. At the burrow, everyone spoke to me as though I was made out of glass, but you weren't afraid to insult me, you didn't look at me and see the Savior of the Wizarding World, you saw me as Potter, the prat who lived." Potter smiled a bit. "I liked that about you. You made me angry, you confused and irritated me, but you also made me laugh, and then…"

Potter's smile fell away. "But then I saw your Patronus, and…"

Draco winced. "It's alright. You don't have to explain. I already know how you felt about that. It was abundantly clear."

Potter shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "No, I don't think you do." He glanced at him uncomfortably before looking away again. "I was shocked when I realized what it meant, of course, but…I also felt…really happy. Happier than I've felt in a long time."

Draco's eyes widened, his heart beat skipping in his chest.

"I didn't know what it meant exactly," Potter continued, still avoiding his gaze. "But I knew that I didn't want things to become awkward between us. You grew distant and I knew I'd hurt you, but…I didn't know what else to do. I just knew that I couldn't bear to lose your friendship. And then…you transformed in that Animagus lesson and I finally realized...why I felt that way."

He visibly colored, and Draco's eyes widened at the implications.

"But…" Draco blurted, not knowing how to take this pronouncement. "I'm not a girl, Potter."

Potter glanced back at him. "Believe me, I know…The thing is, I felt the same way when you changed back." He looked away, staring down at the flame in the jar, his expression troubled. "That's when I realized what it all meant."

Draco stared at him, incredulous. He couldn't keep his voice from shaking. "Don't lie to me, Potter. Not about this. You must take me for a fool. You avoided me, you acted as if you hated me…as if you couldn't stand to be around me. You even told me to stay away from you. How do you expect me to believe that you've felt the exact opposite all this time?"

Potter grimaced and shook his head. "Because I was _afraid_ ," He muttered. "I'd barely felt anything for months and now I feel _everything_. It's all just flooded back in. I can't control myself around you. I can't stay distant around you. I thought I wanted that, but the moment I realized how deep my feelings went, all of the numbness that had been sustaining me since the end of the war just faded away and I couldn't…"

He shook his head and grimaced. "Feeling distant all the time was horrible in a lot of ways, but it was _safe_. I thought that if I denied my feelings for you and tried to make it work with Ginny I'd feel more in control. I thought I could go back to the way things were when I didn't feel so raw, but it hasn't worked. If anything, I...I can't get it back. I know that, but..."

He sighed unsteadily and Draco stared at him, overwhelmed. Potter rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. He now understood what Granger had been accusing Potter of before he'd entered the common room the night before last. Potter was afraid of living. It was a disturbing thought.

"You think it's been easy for me?" Draco questioned hoarsely. "Feeling this way when it used to be so easy to ignore any self-doubt or self-recrimination. Feeling this way about someone I'd been groomed to despise? You make me awkward and weak. Everything you do or say has the power to wound me. But I can't stop. Believe me, I've tried. You lost your ability to feel after the war, but I grew to feel too much, and when I look at you, _Merlin_ , when I'm in the same room as you, I…"

He stopped, his face heating, and Potter stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry," Potter muttered, looking a bit lost. "I'd never meant to hurt anyone, especially you."

Draco sighed tremulously, and pushed a hand through his hair. He wished he hadn't said any of that. He'd never felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment. Potter watched him, looking just as shaken.

"You can't go on like this," Draco insisted, his voice rough, and he looked away. "You'd already made your decision to come back. You can't run away from that now. None of us can."

Potter rubbed at his eyes again with his forefinger and thumb, and he slumped forward.

"I know," he muttered. "And I don't want to run away. It…it's just hard getting used to. I feel like I've been gone for so long."

Draco stared at him, and Potter pushed a hand through his hair, sighing. He glanced back at Draco, biting his lip. He looked apprehensive. "I can't…deny it any more though…you're…I…"

Potter trailed off, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"What?" Draco questioned, his voice hushed as his heart fluttered in his chest.

Potter stared at him, and he sucked in a breath as if steeling himself. When he finally replied, his voice was hoarse. "I want you."

Draco swallowed, his face heating traitorously. "Oh."

Potter's face colored as well, and he appeared a bit shocked that he'd said it out loud. He licked his lips. "I can understand if…you don't want to have anything to do with me. After everything…"

"Potter…"

"And I'm a bit of a mess," Potter continued anxiously. "You might not want to – "

"Potter."

"Even deal with all of my issues," Potter babbled. "I mean – "

"Harry!" Draco finally shouted, and Potter stiffened and stared back at him sheepishly. By that point they were almost nose to nose, and Draco couldn't recall how that had happened. "Just shut up, alright?"

Potter nodded a bit, his gaze falling to Draco's lips, and Draco stiffened. He leaned back, suddenly self-conscious, but Potter followed him, placing a tentative hand on his upper arm and holding him there. Draco stared at him, his heart fluttering in his chest, and Potter's adam's apple dipped in his throat.

"I've never done this before," Potter whispered roughly.

"What?" Draco asked, barely able to think straight as Potter's thumb caressed his upper arm.

"Kissed a bloke," Potter replied.

"Oh," Draco uttered lamely, suddenly lightheaded. "Well…don't let that stop you."

Potter smiled and Draco could see the warmth of it in his eyes, the relief. It made his breath hitch.

Potter leaned forward, tilting his head, and Draco closed his eyes in anticipation. The kiss was soft and tentative, Potter's lips supple but slightly chapped as they moved against his. Draco tried to suppress a soft sound in the back of his throat, but he failed miserably, and Potter breathed in harshly in response, moving his hand up from Draco's arm and onto his jaw, his broom-calloused fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco curled his fingers around Potter's waist and Potter deepened the kiss, mapping his mouth with his tongue.

Draco was drowning, if his gasping, shallow breaths were any indication, but he didn't want to come up for air. Potter was kissing him fervently, and Draco's only thought was that breathing was overrated. This was what he had wanted all along, and he almost couldn't believe it was happening.

Eventually, Potter pulled away, gasping for breath, their foreheads still touching. He rested his hand on Draco's lap, warming the skin there.

"I have to talk to Ginny," Potter muttered hoarsely.

Draco stiffened. He'd forgotten about her, which was stupid. He pulled away and nodded uncomfortably.

Potter sighed and absently pulled Draco's hand into his lap, turning his palm up and following the lines of the burn scar with his thumb. They sat like that for a while, Potter looking down at his palm as Draco watched him stroke it carefully. It was oddly soothing.

"You can't feel that?" Potter muttered in the silence.

"No," Draco replied. "It's too damaged."

Potter stared at him for a long while, the blue flame light glowing on the rims of his glasses. "That's a bit sad, isn't it?"

Draco stared at him, wondering if they were even talking about his hand anymore. "Yeah, it is."

Potter looked down, still stroking his palm. "She's going to hate me."

Draco stared at him, and then he looked away, uncomfortable. "What are you going to tell her?"

"That I…" Potter bit his lip, and Draco glanced back at him warily. "That I don't …that you're the one I – "

"Don't tell her about this," Draco cut in, his voice strained. "About us."

Potter looked up at him questioningly.

"I'd rather others didn't know," Draco admitted. "They won't take kindly to it, and I'd rather avoid angering more people than I already have just by being your friend."

Potter stared at him, his brows knitted. "Draco…"

"Just break it to her gently," Draco insisted. "Tell her it just wasn't working out, but don't tell her I had anything to do with it. She hates me enough already."

Potter frowned, his eyes a bit sad, but he nodded. "Alright…but eventually, she'll find out, and when she does, I won't deny it."

Draco nodded, realizing he'd expected that. "I know."

They sat there for a long moment, and then Potter pulled him in and kissed him again. It was softer this time, full of sorrow and promise. When they finally parted, Draco reluctantly stood up, his heart in his throat.

"We should go back to the castle," he murmured hoarsely. "Granger's probably having a fit with how long I've been out."

Potter grimaced. "I'm going to have to apologize to her too. She won't take this lightly."

"No, she won't," Draco replied wearily. "You've given her quite the scare. Weasley too."

Potter nodded tiredly and after a moment of indecision, Draco offered him his hand. Potter took it, sliding his warm palm against his, and stood up beside him. Potter eyed him, a soft quirk to his lips. Then he squeezed Draco's hand briefly. "Then let's get this over with. I'm knackered."

Draco stared at him, taking in the bags under his eyes and the tired smile pulling at his lips. His mouth twitched up a bit in response, and he followed Potter out.

Potter never let go of his hand. Not until they reached the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on that last chapter. I'm so thrilled that you are enjoying this ride with me, and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Until next time, then.


	16. But You've Grown Up Fast

“Do you think Hermione’s still in there?” Potter asked the moment they stepped up to the Gryffin, a note of apprehension coloring his voice.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Draco replied tiredly. He wasn’t entirely in the mood to deal with her, but he also wasn’t ready to retire for bed either. With everything that had happened, he felt queerly restless.

Potter looked back at him for a moment, his expression unreadable but for the warmth growing in his gaze. Draco swallowed, reading his intent just before Potter reached out to curl his fingers into the fine, blond hair at the nape of his neck. Draco parted his lips slightly in anticipation, and Potter kissed him, licking into his mouth but retreating before Draco could fully reciprocate. When Potter pulled away, Draco focused dazedly on his face.

“Sorry,” Potter uttered. “I just wanted to do that before we…I know you don’t want Hermione to know about us, and I don’t know when we’ll get another chance to…so I had to do it now.”

“You’re a complete sap,” Draco accused, but he undermined his point by leaning forward and recapturing Potter’s lips.

Potter didn’t hesitate in reciprocating. He slid his other hand around Draco’s lower back and held him there and Draco grasped at the front of his shirt. He could feel Potter’s thumb absently caressing circles into the small of his back and he shivered. The kiss was languorous, but it didn’t take long for his lungs to burn from lack of air. Potter seemed to suffer from the same affliction because the kiss soon devolved into small, intermittent connections, where they panted against each other’s lips. Potter flexed his fingers along Draco’s spine and Draco slid his hand up Potter's side. Potter sighed, which reverberated through his chest against the palm of Draco’s other hand.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Potter confessed, his voice rough. “You’ve no idea.”

“It’s hardly been a few days,” Draco objected, but Potter shook his head, brushing the tips of their noses together. Draco found it oddly endearing.

“No. Longer. I just hadn’t realized…”

A small sound escaped Draco's throat, one that he would vehemently deny he had ever made, and he tilted his head to recapture Potter’s lips. Potter pressed forward enthusiastically, moving Draco back against the wall. Draco could feel him, already half-hard against his thigh, and he bit back a groan. He’d been working to convince himself for a month that Potter would never do this, would never want this, but here Potter was, willingly sliding opened mouthed kisses along his jaw, pushing his calloused hands beneath his shirt and running his fingers over the indentations of his ribs. Draco lowered his head and Potter took that as an invitation to lick back into his mouth, subtly rocking his hips.

It wasn’t long before every cell in Draco’s body was practically thrumming, but he forced himself to pull away, and gasped for breath like a land-locked merman. His trousers were too tight around the crotch and his swollen lips stung when he wet them with his tongue. He imagined, with a bit of shame, that he must look debauched, and they’d barely done anything. At the loss of Draco’s lips, however, Potter simply diverted his attention back to his cheek and jaw, trailing kisses from the corner of his mouth to the right side of his throat, sucking at a sensitive spot just below his ear, and Draco couldn’t help moaning appreciatively, curling his fingers against Potter’s warm chest where his heart beat strong and fast.

“Merlin…Potter…we need to –“

“You should call me Harry,” Potter insisted hoarsely, his teeth worrying Draco’s earlobe.

“We need to go inside,” Draco cautioned, ignoring him and attempting to modulate his voice toward something at least resembling poise. Although, he hated himself a bit for attempting to cut this short. “Granger’s probably in there…having a fit.”

Potter stilled and sighed. Then he slowly retreated, stopping just far enough away for his breath to puff out in shallow gasps against Draco’s throat. “Right.”

Draco turned his head and kissed Potter’s temple. Potter let out a breath and slid his other hand down from the nape of Draco’s neck to his upper back, kneading the flesh there with his fingers, rubbing small circles into the thin cloth over his skin. Draco leaned against him and vaguely marveled at how tactile Potter was. He wondered if that had something to do with having grown up in a cupboard where human contact was scarce, but something in his stomach clenched at the thought and he resolved to never ponder it again. They stood there for a moment in silence, Potter practically wrapped around him, and Draco hesitantly slid his hands around to his back, resting his fingers against the faint nobs of Potter’s spine. Draco had never been particularly tactile in his affections, familial or otherwise, but he found touching Potter like this oddly natural, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to relax into the hold.

“It’s getting late.” Draco forced himself to pull away.

Potter frowned, staring at him. He didn’t say anything, but Draco could read a wealth of emotion in his eyes, and he was certain he must be reflecting it back with equal fervor. Potter caressed his jaw with his thumb, and Draco leaned into the touch, his lips swollen and his jaw aching pleasantly. He spotted Potter's lips curling up into a smile, matching the slight uptick of Draco’s own.

“Okay,” Potter murmured softly.

Draco nodded, reluctant to go, but forcing himself to do so anyway. If he let this go on, he feared they’d be standing there in that very spot until morning. Potter turned away and the Gryffin unraveled its wings obediently, revealing the portal beyond. Draco finger-combed his hair and smoothed his robes, and Potter glanced back at him one last time, a soft smile still pulling at his slightly swollen lips, before he stepped through the threshold.

Draco followed him into the common room. The fire in the grate was almost out, leaving the room eerily dark but for the bright moonlight that cascaded in through the stained glass windows. Potter stepped up to the couch and sighed, and Draco saw why a moment later. As he’d half expected, Granger was sprawled out along its length, fast asleep.

“I’ll wake her,” Potter murmured, and glanced back at him. “You can go to bed.”

Draco watched him, reluctant to leave.

Potter smiled and walked over to him, wrapping his arms around him. Draco found he had absolutely no will to resist the manhandling and he grasped at Potter’s hips, burying his nose against his shoulder and breathing him in. Potter sighed, nuzzling Draco’s neck in turn and rubbing those maddening circles into his back.

“I want to tell them,” Potter murmured into the silence.

Draco stiffened and pulled away just enough to see his face. “Don’t.”

Potter stared at him searchingly, a frown tugging at his lips. Draco looked down at their feet, and Potter sighed. “I won’t. Not until you want me to.”

Draco frowned and glanced back at up him. “Potter…I –“

“It’s alright,” Potter interrupted lowly. “I understand.” He leaned in and kissed him. Even though Granger was in the same room, Draco didn’t pull away, even returning the slight pressure. “I just wanted you to know how much I…that I’m not ashamed of this.”

Draco nodded, his heart beat thudding against the lump in his throat. “I’m not either.”

“I know,” Potter reassured.

Draco stared at him, taking in his ridiculously earnest expression, and he forced himself to step out of his embrace. “Talk to Granger. I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

Potter nodded, and Draco turned around before he lost the nerve. He could feel Potter watching him as he went up the stairs, until he rose out of sight.

Draco sighed the moment he escaped Potter’s gaze, his heart still fluttering like a snitch in his chest, and wondered in half-horror if it was supposed to always feel like this. It was like he was stuck on a faulty broomstick with no braking charm, careening through a rainstorm. If he still felt the same in the morning, he wasn’t sure how successful he or Potter would be in hiding anything from their peers. Draco only had to look at Potter’s face to see the fondness there, and he didn’t even want to imagine how transparent he became in Potter’s presence. But he had to try, because other’s becoming aware was out of the question. No one else, besides perhaps Granger, would understand, and he wanted to avoid the inevitable recrimination that would follow. Potter didn’t know exactly how much abuse Draco had taken this term and he wanted to keep it that way. He would deal with it himself, and that would be easier if his detractors weren’t given yet another reason to despise him .

He stumbled toward his four-poster, the dormitory still and dark, and sat down on his mattress. He took off his shoes and trousers with shaky limbs, and chucked his robes in the direction of his trunk. He closed his curtains and slipped under the covers, staring up at the moonlit ceiling as adrenaline continued to course through his veins. It was a long while before he could fall asleep, thoughts of Potter and all that had happened in the last few hours swirling through his head.

When he did finally lose consciousness, he had vague dreams of lying beside Potter on a grassy field and carding his fingers through his soft, dark hair. Potter’s hands slid over his bare skin in a gentle caress, his calloused fingers leaving fire in their wake. When he awoke the next morning, he was out of breath and his lap was sticky. He stared up at the sunlit ceiling, catching his breath as the other occupants of the dorm stirred, then pulled his wand out from under his pillow and cast a quick scourgify. When he sat up, he resolved to limit thoughts about Potter while he was awake, but of course, that made him think about Potter. Warmth pooled in his gut and he shook his head, chastising himself for the lapse.

He pushed open the curtains and Longbottom, Corner, and Weasley glanced back, but Longbottom was the only one who looked unbothered by the sight of him. Corner grimaced and pointedly looked down to button his shirt, and Weasley narrowed his eyes at him before making his way out. Draco ignored them both but nodded curtly to Longbottom, slipped into some trousers and made his way to the bathroom.

He stilled the moment he entered because Potter was standing at the sink, hair wet and wearing only a towel about his waist. Potter noticed his reflection in the mirror and his expression softened before he turned around to face him. Draco could hear the water running in one of the shower stalls, and it kept him rooted to the spot. Potter glanced over at the same stall, then looked back at Draco and raised an eyebrow. Draco’s heart beat quickened and he shook his head.

Potter smiled, looking fondly exasperated, but he kept his distance. “Hey.”

“Potter,” Draco greeted neutrally, and he looked away, back at the occupied shower stall. He locked gazes with Potter again and swallowed.

Potter’s lips quirked, and he pushed off from where he was leaning against the sink to approach him. Draco frowned, but he didn't move to stop Potter when he stepped up to him. He involuntarily breathed in the smell of Potter’s soap and eyed him warily. The wizard was all lean muscle honed by years of playing Quidditch and fighting Death Eaters, of course. Coupled with the faded scar beneath the dark matted fringe of his hair and those ridiculous green eyes, Draco found it difficult to look at him. Potter’s smile softened, clearly aware of the direction Draco’s thoughts had taken, and enjoying it, the bugger. Potter leaned forward and, despite knowing he shouldn’t, Draco met him halfway in a brief press of lips. When Potter pulled back, his expression was dangerously tender, and Draco’s fingertips itched to run along the bare skin of Potter’s stomach, but he resolutely kept his hands to himself. He knew their unwanted companion could exit the shower at any moment.

“How was Granger?” Draco asked under his breath, staring at something just past Potter’s shoulder to avoid taking in Potter’s gaze.

Potter’s brows knit and he looked away, pushing a hand through his messy locks. Draco did his best to ignore the interplay of muscles that movement elicited across Potter’s chest, because that was counterproductive. “I think she knows.”

Draco sighed. “Well, I’m not surprised. She’d already deduced how I felt.”

Potter shook his head and eyed him, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “I reckon she knew how I felt too. Likely before I had.”

“And yet she’d never told me,” Draco muttered exasperatedly.

Potter smiled. “She probably hadn’t wanted to interfere.”

Draco huffed out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I doubt it. She revels in interference. I’m certain she enjoyed watching us struggle with our feelings like a pair of Confunded First Years.”

Potter smiled wryly. “Surely we weren’t as bad as all that.”

Draco stared back at him.

“Mostly,” Potter amended.

Draco sighed, and looked away, biting his lip when he thought of the Weaslette. “It’s hardly over, at any rate.”

Potter watched him for a moment and his smile fell away. He nodded, his brows knitting a bit. Draco opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then the shower stopped and he tensed.

Potter noticed it too and obligingly stepped away from him. Boot exited the stall soon after, wrapping a towel around his waist and glancing at them both, raising an eyebrow as they stared at him in the sudden silence. Potter tipped his head in greeting and Boot nodded back, before slowly turning to pick up his clothes to dress and ignore them both.

Draco shared a look with Potter and Potter shrugged, pushing a hand through his wet locks again, most likely because he knew what the motion was doing to Draco, if his smile was any indication, the prat. “I’ll be down in the common room when you get out.”

Draco sent him a flat look, but nodded, and Potter turned back around toward the mirror, taking out his wand to dry his hair. Draco about-faced and started to undress, until he realized belatedly that Potter could see him in the mirror if he chose to look. He pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and glanced back surreptitiously, only to swallow when, sure enough, Potter’s gaze locked with his in the mirror. Draco had never been particularly self-conscious about revealing his body before, especially in front of other wizards, but this was different. This was Potter watching him, his intent green gaze prickling heat across his skin. Draco turned back around, trying to ignore his heart beating a staccato in his chest, and slipped out of his trousers with deliberate slowness, both from nerves and an, admittedly, half-arsed attempt at seduction. He did the same with his pants, letting them slide down his legs to drop to the floor, and hoped he didn’t look stupid.

He took in a deep breath and glanced back at Potter again. A flush was spreading all the way down from Potter’s cheeks to his throat now, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. Draco stared at him, his own breathing irregular. If he’d ever had any lingering doubts that Potter wanted him, his expression now would have invalidated all of them. Draco had the presence of mind to wonder what would happen if he turned around, but then Boot came up to the sink beside Potter. Draco hastily stepped into the shower stall and closed the frosted door behind him.

Panting, Draco turned on the tap and pressed his warm forehead against the tile. He looked down at his half hard cock and immediately wished that Potter had joined him. He heard Potter leave the bathroom shortly thereafter, however, and Draco had to wait until Boot did the same before he could take care of his problem. He barely had to do anything once he’d wrapped his hand around his length. Just a quick thought of Potter’s long fingers replacing his own and he was lost, his legs almost buckling beneath him. When he recovered, he absently watched the remnants of his release wash down the drain and scrubbed himself clean with soap. Then he turned off the tap and retrieved his folded towel from the floor, unsteadily wrapping it around his waist.

Once he’d fully dressed and stepped halfway down the stairway to the common room, he stilled at the sound of Potter’s voice.

“ – fine. Sorry for…I just had to figure some things out.”

“It’s not a problem, mate,” Weasley’s voice replied. “We were just worried about you.” He paused. “You know you can talk to us, right?”

“Yeah,” Potter muttered. “I know, but…I just needed some time alone for a bit.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re all right now,” Weasley stated slowly. “But the next time you decide to bugger off, just tell us, alright? Hermione was frantic with worry.”

There was a soft slap and Weasley yelped. “Ow!”

“You were just as agitated as I was, Ron,” Granger accused. “Honestly.”

Draco smirked and continued down the steps, finding Potter, Weasley, and Granger sitting on the couch. The only other occupants of the room were Longbottom, Boot, and Abbott, who were conversing privately around a table by a far window. Weasley scowled, but Granger smiled at Draco and mouthed the words, ‘thank you.’ Draco bit the inside of his mouth and nodded uncomfortably, then turned his attention to Potter. Potter smiled and stood up. As he approached, Draco was keenly aware of their onlookers. Granger was watching their interaction quite ardently, and Draco wouldn’t be surprised if she could sense how conflicted he was. She was obviously enjoying his discomfort and Draco frowned at her. Her smile only grew when Potter stopped beside him, clearly not cowed in the slightest.

“How was your shower?” Potter asked, his voice low.

Weasley sent Potter an odd look, and Draco scowled, his cheeks heating. “What is this sudden interest in my bathing habits, Potter?”

Potter smiled mischievously, but didn’t say anything, his expression saying enough. Draco narrowed his eyes at him. Potter clearly knew exactly how his shower had been, the wanker.

“So are you two speaking again?” Weasley questioned, looking less than thrilled.

Draco sent the ginger-headed nitwit a flat look, but Potter turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant,” Weasley muttered, clearly thinking it was anything but. “What changed?”

“Potter realized his relatively insignificant life was meaningless without me,” Draco drawled. It was completely tongue and cheek, of course, but Potter huffed a laugh and glanced back at him with a smile so warm it could melt snow. Draco fought down yet another blush and scowled uncomfortably.

Weasley scowled for an entirely different reason, muttering something disparaging under his breath.

Granger frowned at her boyfriend and stood up. “Are you coming to breakfast, Draco?”

“I am,” Draco replied quickly, struggling to keep from looking back at Potter who he could still feel eyeing him. “That is, if Weasley can stomach me.”

Weasley narrowed his eyes. “I’ve suffered through you before, haven’t I?”

“Ah yes, I’d forgotten,” Draco drawled. “You’ve the appetite of a troll.”

“Alright,” Granger broke in, sending them both a quelling look, and Potter shook his head, cuffing Draco on the shoulder. Draco glared at him, but Potter only grinned. Draco stared because, merlin help him, no matter how insufferable he acted at times, Potter looked unfairly good when he did that with his face. He could feel Granger eyeing them both with something akin to fond exasperation. He didn’t like it. “Let’s go. If we don’t hurry now, we’ll be late for Defense.”

She dragged Weasley away and Draco followed reluctantly, Potter falling in beside him just as they stepped through the portal. The hall was as bustling as ever, but neither Draco nor Potter spoke as they pushed through the groups of shorter students. Potter’s fingers brushed against his as if by accident, but when Draco glanced back at him, Potter’s eyes were on him. Draco looked away, but he itched to reach for his hand and grasp it in his own. He didn’t, of course.

They descended down a flight of stairs, following Weasley, Granger, and a group of Ravenclaws. Potter didn’t look back at him again, but his warm fingers brushed over Draco’s every once and a while, lingering just long enough for him to know it was deliberate, and he couldn’t help the shiver that raced down his spine. He barely noticed the usual looks he and Potter received when they passed through the crowded halls, and it was hard for him to care. He felt pleasantly warm and light-headed.

Just before they reached the Great Hall, however, Draco stiffened and grabbed Potter’s wrist, tugging him back as other students passed through the double doors. Potter stopped and glanced back at him questioningly.

Draco looked about, feeling a bit ridiculous, but he kept his voice low when he spoke just in case. “She might be in there.”

Potter knit his brows bemusedly, before his eyes alit, and he looked away, an uncomfortable frown tugging at his lips. “I know.”

Draco stared at him. “You don’t have to –“

“No,” Potter shook his head and looked back at him. He twisted his hand until his long fingers were wrapped around Draco’s. “I do.”

Draco hastily looked about to spot any onlookers, but he and Potter were standing in a dark alcove beside the doors and no one seemed to mind them. Potter slid his fingers away, and Draco immediately relaxed. Potter was frowning when Draco next caught his eye.

“We should go in,” Potter muttered, the easy atmosphere they’d cultivated all morning dissipating.

Draco nodded, feeling slightly guilty for the loss, but uncertain how to rectify it. He followed Potter through the doors, a heavy weight in his stomach. The moment they stepped into the Hall, Potter stopped and Draco followed his gaze. The Weaslette was sitting at the Gryffindor table with her back to the door, her long, red hair falling almost to her waist as she ate. She looked a bit stiff as her friends chatted around her, and Draco realized she was probably still worrying about Potter. She hadn’t seen him since Hogsmeade, after all. Draco glanced at Potter’s profile as the wizard stared at her apprehensively, and something in his chest clenched. He laid his hand on Potter’s upper arm and Potter glanced back at him. Potter sent him a shaky smile, covering Draco’s hand with his for a moment before letting it drop.

“I’ll see you in Defense,” Potter murmured. “This might take a bit.”

Draco hummed in ascent and slid his hand away, hating himself for already missing the warmth beneath his fingertips. “Right.”

Potter turned and walked over to the Weaslette. Draco couldn’t help the feeling of alarm that bubbled up inside him; nagged by a lingering doubt that Potter had ever truly intended to leave the Weaslette for him. He forced that thought away, even as he watched Potter lean over the Weaslette’s shoulder. She jumped before she looked back at him, and Draco could see the way her amber eyes lit up even from this distance. She said something, appearing concerned, and Potter replied, nodding toward the doors. She stared at him for a moment, clearly bemused, but then she glanced back at her friends and excused herself. Her friends nodded, looking between her and Potter with curious expressions, and she stood up. Potter turned, his expression grim, but then he caught Draco’s eye, and Draco nodded awkwardly, turning away himself before the Weaslette could see him standing there.

He made his way between the cluttered lengths of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables to the Eighth Year table and sat down across from Granger. She raised a brow in question and Weasley swallowed his food, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Where’s Harry?”

Draco stared at him, then shared a look with Granger, and muttered. “With the…your sister.”

Granger’s brows knit, but she didn’t say anything, and Draco gripped his spoon with an unsteady hand and scooped some beans onto a piece of toast.

Weasley stared between them, frowning. “What’s going on?”

Granger ripped her gaze away from Draco to glance at her boyfriend. “What do you mean?”

She sounded too casual, and Weasley noticed. Draco stared at him warily. He was more perceptive than he’d like. “Is Harry in trouble?”

“I don’t think so,” Granger replied, but she looked back at Draco, and Weasley chewed his food slowly, obviously suspicious.

“I still don’t understand what was wrong with him,” Weasley muttered, sending Granger a sidelong look. “And I don’t know why he’s supposedly better now. Has he told you anything?”

Granger shook her head. Draco could tell she was pained by lying to him, but her voice was even. “No more than he has to you.”

Draco filled his goblet with black coffee and swigged it back, only realizing once the bitterness hit his tongue that he’d forgotten to add the cream and sugar. He held back a gag and faked nonchalance as Weasley eyed him. He didn’t need an interrogation now. He was already tense thinking of what Potter could possibly be saying to the Weaslette. It was ridiculous, but the lingering fear that Potter could change his mind just wouldn’t leave him, and he felt ill with it.

He couldn’t finish his breakfast, his nerves effectively tying his stomach in a knot. He waited for Granger and Weasley to finish theirs, as he limply pushed the food around on his plate. Granger eyed him every once and a while, clearly reading his agitation for what it was, but her gaze didn’t linger. She conversed with Weasley whenever he wasn’t feeding his face, and Draco just sat there silently, ignoring the ever present glares he could feel boring into his back from the Gryffindor table. The Eighth Year table slowly emptied as the time for the start of their Defense lesson approached. He, Weasley, and Granger were some of its last occupants, before Granger finally stood up, and Draco warily followed them both out. He told himself he was being ridiculous. He would see Potter there and then he’d learn he’d been worried for nothing.

Most of the Eighth Years were already in the room when they entered, including Potter. He was standing near the back, frowning, his gaze introspective, until he noticed their arrival. Draco caught his gaze, his heart in his throat, and Potter watched him as he approached, his lips ticking up a bit, but Draco could tell he was still troubled. Granger sent Potter a meaningful look and he nodded slightly. Weasley frowned, glancing back and forth between them. Draco just stopped to stand beside Granger, wishing he could speak with Potter in private.

Proudfoot strode into the room, appearing slightly more intimidating than usual in full Auror robes, and surveyed them all the moment she stopped in front of the class. “I see we’re all here. Good.”

She crossed her arms and pointedly waited for some of the stragglers to cease chatting amongst themselves and pay attention. “I reviewed your performances from last week, and I’ve concluded that while your spell work is passable, with a few exceptions, your foot work is shoddy at best. If you’re in a life or death situation and you happen to lose your wand, I very much doubt you would be able to survive with your current skills. So, today, we’ll work on rectifying that with an obstacle course commonly used by Aurors-in-training.”

The room filled with low murmurs at that, and Draco tensed. He’d never been particularly adept without a wand. His father had never seen any use in training him to fight without magic. He insisted it was beneath a Pureblood. He suspected this exercise would favor those who had grown up in Muggle households.

“I’ve set the course up out on the grounds,” Proudfoot stated, ignoring the general kerfuffle in the wake of her pronouncement. “Follow me.”

She walked away and a fair number of Eighth Years shared a mixture of wary and excited looks, before following her out the door. Draco glanced at Potter and let Granger and Weasley pass him. Potter stepped up beside him, and they both waited until most of their peers had exited the room. Draco bit the inside of his cheek when he felt Potter’s eyes on him.

“What happened?” Draco finally uttered, and began to follow the others at a slower pace. Potter walked so close to him that their shoulders were touching, and even that sent a jolt of warmth to the pit of his stomach.

Potter sighed as they stepped out into the hall, lagging a bit behind Weasley and Granger. Weasley glanced back at them at intervals, a small frown on his face, but Draco did his best to ignore him as he eyed Potter. Potter leaned in close and spoke under his breath. It did things to Draco’s insides, but he fought the feeling down. Potter didn’t seem to notice. “I told her I wanted to end it. And she was angry, but she said she wasn’t surprised with how…” He shook his head. “She did ask me why, though.”

“What did you tell her?” Draco questioned uneasily, bristling a bit when he noted that Weasley was still glancing back at them.

“The truth,” Potter stated, and Draco stiffened, but Potter shook his head and continued. “That I love her, but as a friend, nothing more.”

“Who’re you talking about?” Weasley questioned, and Potter’s attention finally snapped to him in surprise, and he grimaced.

Draco tensed further, but didn’t say anything when Granger looked back at them both as well.

“Ginny,” Potter finally replied.

Weasley’s eyes widened and he slowed down until he was walking beside Potter. “Did you break up with her?”

He said it loudly enough that a fair number of their Housemates glanced back at them curiously, including Brown, the Patils, Turpin, Li, Abbott, and Longbottom, their eyes widening.

Potter frowned, and Weasley’s ginger brows rose into his hairline, clearly struck dumb by the news.

“But why?” Weasley spluttered. “I thought things were going well between you two…well, at least until last weekend…” he trailed off. “Did something happen?”

Potter shook his head and glanced back at Draco. Draco looked away. “Not really. I just realized it… wasn’t going to work.”

Weasley stared at him. “Is that why you were avoiding us?”

Potter winced, and Draco felt a moment of panic that he would slip the truth, but Potter merely shrugged, forcing his shoulders to unwind. “A bit…yeah. I could have handled it better, I know.”

Weasley frowned, and he looked as though he might harangue him in defense of his sister, but then he just shook his head and let out a loud breath. “That must’ve…been hard. Sorry, mate.”

“Yeah, me too,” Potter muttered earnestly, pushing a hand through his messy locks, his brows pinched.

Weasley just shook his head again, and Draco’s muscles unwound a bit. He’d been afraid that Weasley would fly off the handle, but apparently he was more mature than he’d given him credit for. It was the first time he caught a glimpse of the Weasley Potter must have seen often, the one Potter wanted as a friend. Weasley pinned Granger with a look though. “I suppose you knew about this?”

“I’d only suspected,” Granger explained hesitantly, her gaze flitting to Draco.

“And Malfoy too?” Weasley questioned sharply and frowned at Draco, clearly not thrilled to discover he'd been the last to know.

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Potter cut him off.

“I told him last night,” Potter admitted just as they reached the Entrance Hall. Weasley scowled, looking hurt. “I’m sorry, Ron. I would have told you, but you were already asleep, and I…” he sighed. “You’re my best mate, but she’s your sister. That’s a bit…”

Weasley’s jaw clenched as Potter trailed off, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Potter repeated lamely.

Weasley sighed and waved a freckled hand through the air. “No, that…it’s understandable.”

They stepped out onto the grounds, and Draco had to squint in the bright sunlight. The group spread out a bit, but a notably large cadre of the Eighth Years were hanging back and glancing at Potter every few minutes. Draco frowned. Thanks to Weasley’s earlier outburst, the news of Potter’s breakup with the Weaslette will have certainly spread across the entirety of Hogwarts by dinner.

“I’m surprised she didn’t hex you,” Weasley commented after a moment.

“I’m sure she wanted to,” Potter muttered around a wince.

“She didn’t cry, did she?” Draco questioned apprehensively, just imagining Potter comforting her as she sobbed in his arms.

“No,” Potter denied, shaking his head. “She never does. That’s one of the things I like about her.”

Draco frowned, but he didn’t say anything. Potter’s brows knit, but Draco looked away. He knew he was being ridiculous. Of course Potter would like things about her. There was a reason they’d fancied each other in the first place.

“I’m sure Ginny will be all right,” Weasley reassured lowly, as if he was convincing himself of it too. “She’s never had much difficulty finding boyfriends. I reckon it won’t be too hard for you to find someone, either,” he added, his voice dry. “There’ll be a string of girls queuing up for you now that you’re unattached, Harry, don’t worry.”

Draco’s stomach clenched uncomfortably as he realized Weasley had a point, but Potter frowned and stuffed his hands into his robe pockets, his gaze flicking toward Draco. “I’d rather they didn’t. I’m happy with how things are right now.”

Draco stared at him, his heart in his throat again and he swallowed around it. The tosser was going to give them away if he went on like that. Anyone with half a brain could look at Potter now and spot the blatant fondness in his eyes. Draco looked at anything but him, and noticed with slight dread that Weasley seemed to be one such person, his eyes narrowing questioningly as he glanced between them. Draco bit the inside of his cheek and wished Potter would take a hint and stop staring at him like that.

He was only reminded of Potter’s expression last night, though, his pupils blown as he ghosted long fingers over Draco’s back and slid his mouth down the column of his throat. Draco couldn’t help licking his lips, finding them still slightly sensitive so many hours later, and hated himself the moment he’d done it, because he could spot Potter from the corner of his eye, staring at them now. Granger had that irritatingly amused look on her face, but Weasley was eyeing Potter like he’d grown a spare head, and it was all incredibly frustrating.

Draco busied himself by weighing the pros and cons of hexing the lot of them in the face, so he didn’t notice the sprawling obstacle course until they were practically on top of it. They all stopped and surveyed the pitch, which had been transformed into a series of rock walls, hoops, poles, and sharp metal cones jutting out of the ground.

“It looks like a playground,” someone muttered just ahead of them.

“A what?” Weasley uttered, and Draco silently concurred.

Granger shook her head. “It’s a place where Muggle children play, usually in schools and parks. But this doesn’t look like any playground I’ve ever seen.”

“I reckon it’s all the sharp spikes,” Potter muttered wryly.

Proudfoot turned around and surveyed them all. “This is the obstacle course. You will each need to cross it within a certain amount of time. If you can’t manage it, you will fail. No exceptions. Aurors-in-training have to overcome a very similar course on their first day. A fair few don’t pass, and I expect the same will be true of you.”

Most of the Eighth Years shifted warily, but Potter’s eyes flashed as he shared a look with Weasley. Draco, on the other hand, gripped his wand in his robe pocket like a lifeline, wondering if he should just give up before the inevitable humiliation. He’d never been particularly clumsy, but physical exertion had never been his forte, and he could tell just by the way Potter, Weasley, Finnigan, and Thomas were digging in their metaphorical heels that this was a test designed specifically with Gryffindors in mind.

“You will not be allowed wands or the use of wandless magic, if you can manage it,” Proudfoot barked out, her voice echoing across the grounds. “But your adversaries will.”

A fair few in the group gasped in dismay, and she smirked. “This is the best preparation for life in the field. If you are disarmed, chances are your opponent won’t be. This course is designed to teach you how to deal with that or die trying.” The shocked chatter grew louder and she raised her voice. “The worst you could suffer with this exercise, however, is being knocked unconscious.”

Some of the students, including Longbottom nearly collapsed with relief. Draco, despite his own nerves, rolled his eyes, and Proudfoot appeared equally unimpressed.

“This test is designed to prepare you, and by the end of this hour, you will understand your weaknesses, which will undoubtedly be numerous” She paused and gestured grandly to the obstacle course behind her, before pointing to the far left where a red flag was flapping in the breeze. “When it is your turn, you will start at that marker and proceed through the course as your peers attempt to hit you with Stunners. If you are rendered unconscious, you will automatically fail, and if you don’t finish the course within five minutes, you will automatically fail.”

She was greeted with stunned silence, and she smiled grimly. “Are there any questions?”

No one replied, but Weasley muttered just under his breath. “She’s absolutely barking.”

Finnigan glared back at Draco, dark promise in his eyes. Draco glared at him in turn, trying to ignore the lump of anxiety growing in his throat. When Finnigan looked away, however, Potter stepped closer to him, sliding his fingers over his. Draco stiffened and looked about in alarm, but no one else was even paying attention to them anymore. Potter threaded their fingers together and squeezed his hand briefly before letting go. Draco glanced back at him, grimacing at the look of concern in his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to see pity there. Potter’s brows knit, but Draco ripped his gaze away and Potter mercifully took the hint, stepping back a bit.

“I will call you out for your turn at random,” Proudfoot stated. “Thomas, you’re first. Take your position at the flag and await my mark.”

Thomas nodded and pulled off his school robes, handing them over to Finnigan, before dutifully making his way to the flag.

“The rest of you, take positions along the course and ready your wands,” she barked. “Remember, use only the Stupefying Charm. If I see you casting anything else, you will be disqualified. On the other hand, if you manage a hit, it will count positively toward your final marks. ”

Draco followed Potter to the edge of the course and they lined up. Draco took a spot between Potter and Granger, and the rest of the class spread out in a line so that they all populated the length of the course. Draco took out his wand along with everyone else, and Proudfoot nodded at them in approval before turning to Thomas.

“Start!”

Thomas dashed forward, but he was immediately slogged down in a pool of mud, which made it difficult for him to dodge the Stunners coming his way from Boot, Corner, and Finch-Fletchley at the start of the line. He made a valiant effort though and escaped the mud miraculously unscathed before he scambled up the stone wall. Finnigan was yelling his support even as Thomas slipped, just missing a Stunner that whizzed past the back of his head. He scrambled up to the top and tumbled over the wall, barely landing on his feet on the other side, just in front of Weasley and Granger. They sent their own Stunners at him, but he rolled just out of the way and leapt over the patch of spikes embedded in the ground. Draco, Potter, Longbottom, and Abbott took aim, but Draco’s Stupefy only singed the back of Thomas’s calf as he climbed a ladder and grabbed hold of some wooden rings that were swinging from a bar. He swung quickly from ring to ring, very much appearing as if he had done so before, but the assault from Finnigan and Smith on the sidelines was relatively weak. It grew more heated as he reached the last ring just in front of MacMillan, Goldstein, Turpin, and Li, who held nothing back in their offensive. Thomas leapt down into a surprisingly deep pool of water just as a Stunner hit the ring he had been hanging from. He swam past the Patils, Brown, and Bones, barely coming up for air until he climbed out the other side. Jones sent one last Stunner his way, but her aim was off and he was able to roll past the green flag marker at the end with relative ease.

The majority of Eighth Years erupted in cheers and Thomas stumbled to his feet, breathing heavily and grinning. Draco’s apprehension grew. Thomas’s performance had been close to flawless.

Fortunately, however, this was not generally the case for those who followed. Li was hit with a Stunner and fell onto the patch of spikes. Luckily for her, a cushioning charm had been erected over them so she wasn’t skewered alive, but she was rendered unconscious just the same. Proudfoot Rennervated her and she shakily made her way back to the line, her pride punctured if nothing else. Turpin did surprisingly well, making it to the end before time ran out, but MacMillan was hit by a Stunner on the rings. Smith didn’t even make it through the mud, which Draco found particularly uplifting. Longbottom was a bit clumsy but he managed to make it through, although Proudfoot informed him that he had just missed the time limit by a second, effectively disqualifying him. Abbott, Boot, and Corner were all hit by Stunners, and Draco managed to hit Bones when she slipped off the ladder to the rings.

Then it was Potter’s turn and Draco couldn’t help tensing anxiously. Potter took off his robes and carelessly handed them to him with a shaky smile. Draco accepted them stiffly, and Potter made his way to the red flag. Weasley eyed them, but Draco ignored it this time. His heightened concern for Potter was ridiculous, of course. Potter could take care of himself. He only had to remember his performance during the Triwizard tournament to convince himself of that much.

Once Potter started, Draco couldn’t quite bring himself to aim particularly well when Potter reached the wall, and he could tell that both Weasley and Granger had held back as well. Potter encountered the largest assault near the end of the line, but he dodged the Stunners adeptly, before he sloughed through the water and leapt past the green flag. Weasley, Granger, and Draco cheered loudest of all when it was over, and Potter pushed a tired hand through his wet hair before smiling at them. He rejoined them and Granger shot him with a drying and warming charm for which Potter sent her a grateful nod.

“Good job, Potter,” Draco muttered with forced nonchalance, brushing some dried dirt off of Potter’s soiled shirt before he could think better of it.

Potter smiled, still slightly out of breath, his face pleasingly flushed. “Thanks.”

Draco handed him his robes, and Potter accepted them, their fingers brushing for longer than necessary – Potter’s doing, of course. Although, Draco couldn’t deny he liked it, because apparently, he was a masochist.

Brown was next, but she didn’t make it past the wall. Neither did the Ravenclaw Patil twin. Finch-Fletchley just barely made it through. He was hit by a Stunner just before he crossed the line and he passed on a technicality, in Draco’s opinion. Draco tried particularly hard to Stun Finnigan, but he missed, and the arse actually made it through unscathed. The Gryffindor Patil failed spectacularly, tripping in the mud and getting hit by a Stunner within seconds. Proudfoot shook her head and Rennervated her without comment. Patil looked utterly humiliated as she rejoined her friends in the line.

“Malfoy,” Proudfoot bellowed. “You’re up.”

Draco tensed, but he nodded and stiffly pulled off his heavy school robes, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t make eye contact with Potter as he handed them to him. He didn’t think he could take any more looks of concern. Finnigan and Smith jeered at him, of course, as he walked to the flag, but he was too anxious to glare at them. Once he got to the starting point, he glanced back at the line of students and caught Potter frowning in Finnigan’s direction, obviously cross with him on Draco’s behalf.

Draco forgot his nerves for a moment, and stared back at the course before him, flexing his fingers. Even if his classmates were certain to assault him more vehemently than anyone else, a strange calm washed over him. He remembered what Potter had said about conjuring a Patronus. If he convinced himself he could do it, he would. He clung to the thought, and breathed in deeply, his heart rate slowing.

Proudfoot’s bellow of “Start!” carried to him on the wind and he dashed forward, nearly falling into the sticky mud the moment his foot sank into it. He felt the heat of a Stunner prickle the hairs on the back of his neck and scrambled forward with a rush of adrenaline, ignoring the dirt as it splashed up onto his face and leaping onto the rock wall. Red blasts were shooting out at him from what felt like every direction, but he could only move forward quickly to avoid them. He dug his fingers into the cracks of the wall, sure that they would be bleeding by the end, but the next thing he knew, he was scrambling over the top. He just missed a Stunner aimed for his head when he fell to the ground and landed on his tail bone, but he ignored the pain and stumbled to his feet just long enough to leap over the spikes.

He could hear the others jeering and felt another scorching burn across his calf, but he ignored that too as he climbed the ladder and caught the first ring. He’d never done this before, but he’d watched the others do it often enough and he had no time to second-guess his actions. He swung with all his might, hoping that staying in motion would be enough to thwart his attackers’ aim.

His lungs were burning by the time he made it to the other side, but he jumped into the water before anything could hit him. The water roared past his ear drums, muffling the shouts of his classmates, as he sank into its shockingly frigid depths. He had to surface quickly in order to breathe, but all the while, he was thrashing forward, the water rushing in his ears and almost getting into his nose. When he climbed out the other side, his body felt like lead, his muscles trembling to pull him and his heavy clothing up onto dry land. He heard the loud buzz of a blast of magic and collapsed back onto the ground, narrowly missing the spell. Then he used the last of his energy to scramble forward, panting hoarsely. When he crossed the green flag, his onlookers groaned loudly with disappointment, but he collapsed onto the ground in relief, breathing in the dirt.

He lay there in shock for a moment, unable to believe he had actually succeeded.

He pushed himself up, his entire body aching, his breathing still horribly labored as he stood. Proudfoot nodded in approval when he glanced her way, and he managed a smirk for Finnigan who, along with Smith, were glaring at him murderously. He searched for Potter, ignoring everyone else, and found him smiling broadly. Draco couldn’t help smiling back, fighting a heady euphoria at his triumph. He had a mad impulse to run at Potter and leap into his arms, which was utterly ridiculous of course, but when he stumbled over to him, Potter wrapped him up in a hug and Draco let him, laughing breathlessly.

Potter eventually let go and grinned, clearly unconcerned that his entire front was sopping wet again. “That was brilliant.”

“Of course it was,” Draco drawled, but he was sure the effect was ruined by his grin. “As if there was ever any doubt.”

Granger put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Well done. I think you managed one of the best times.”

Weasley nodded at him grudgingly, clearly impressed but unwilling to voice it.

Potter performed a wandless drying and warming charm on Draco and himself, before handing him his robes. Draco gave him a sideways look and muttered, “Show off,” but Potter looked pleased, the prat.

Proudfoot called Weasley up next, and they all settled down as he disrobed and handed it to Granger. His face paled and her brows knit, but she smiled at him encouragingly before he turned away.

“Go, Ron!” Potter called out once he made it to the flag and Weasley grinned back at him, clearly nervous.

Given his uplifted mood, Draco had a queer desire to see Weasley pass as well, but he didn’t go so far as to echo the support various others along the line were voicing. Needless to say, Granger, Potter, and Draco’s efforts to Stun Weasley were lackadaisical at best, and Weasley scrambled over the wall with little difficultly. As had happened with Potter’s run, the assault grew more heated once he reached the rings, but he narrowly dodged the barrage and leapt into the water. There was a worrying moment when he failed to resurface for a while, but then his wet head popped up on the other side and he scrambled over the edge. He nearly got hit when he paused to catch his breath, but he rolled out of the way and past the green flag. A number of the Eighth Years cheered, Granger and Potter loudest of all, and he was greeted by hearty back slaps all along the line on his way back to Granger.

The moment he reached her, he pulled her into a wet kiss and the Eighth Years laughed and wolf whistled. Draco couldn’t help feeling simultaneously disgusted and envious. Potter caught his eye and it was obvious he shared the sentiment. Draco looked away, because life wasn’t fair, and seeing Potter agree didn't make it any less difficult.

It was Jones’s turn next, but she couldn’t carry herself over the wall and was eventually hit by a Stunner. Granger did much better. Her time spent on the run from Death Eaters during the war had clearly prepared her for success. Draco was impressed and he commended her the moment she rejoined their ranks, but she didn’t have a chance to respond before Weasley commandeered her, pulling her in for another snog. Another round of wolf-whistles ensued and Draco spent yet more time hating his life and the people in it, but fortunately, it didn’t last for long, and they broke apart breathlessly just in time for Proudfoot’s summons to the class.

They all gathered in front of her and she surveyed them calculatingly. “To those of you who passed, well done. As for those who didn’t, your homework is to write an essay on why you failed and what you can do to improve. Everyone should read chapters five and six in your text books for next lesson, when I will demonstrate hand-to-hand combat. Come prepared.”

A fair number of Eighth Years shifted nervously at that.

“You are dismissed.”

The group dispersed, but Draco shared a look with Potter and Potter hung back with him even as Weasley and Granger started walking back to the castle. Weasley noticed after a beat and he stopped to glance back at Potter, brows raised. “Are you coming for lunch?”

“Go on without us,” Potter replied, and Weasley frowned.

“We’ll see you two later,” Granger stated, cutting off whatever Weasley had been working up to say.

Weasley stared at them for a long moment, but he turned away. “Alright. See you.”

Draco and Potter watched them leave, along with the rest of the class, before they walked off in the opposite direction, toward the glistening lake. The grounds were silent and uninhabited, so Draco didn’t object when Potter took his hand and interwove their fingers.

Potter pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m knackered.”

Draco side-eyed him. “Are you alright with…?”

He trailed off and Potter gazed at him searchingly. Draco shook his head, feeling ridiculous. “Never mind.”

“What?” Potter questioned.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at a particularly interesting rock. He kicked it away when he got close enough. “You broke up with your girlfriend, and it would be perfectly natural if…you had doubts. Understandable, really.”

“Draco,” Potter stated lowly and squeezed his hand. Draco glanced back at him, crossing his free arm across his chest. “I haven’t felt anything for her since before the war, and I’ve never felt…” he looked away, his cheeks coloring a bit. “I’ve already told you how much I…can’t control myself around you. You’re…I thought that much was obvious.”

Draco stared at him. It was, but…it was still hard to believe. This wasn’t the first time in his life Potter would have rejected him for a Weasley, after all, and maybe he’d been scarred by that. It was pathetic, really. He realized with no small amount of dismay that this would be the first time he’d ever succeeded in getting something he wanted, at least based on his own merit. He just wasn’t used to it, and he would probably never stop waiting for everything he’d built to collapse around him. “I just find it hard to believe after everything…she’s not a horrible looking witch and her personality isn’t particularly atrocious. It’s obvious how many boys fancy her, and – ”

Potter came to a halt and tugged at his hand until Draco stopped resisting and begrudgingly stopped beside him. Potter wrapped his arms around him, and rubbed those circles into his spine that Draco was secretly beginning to crave.

“You’re queerly fond of manhandling me, Potter,” Draco accused, even as he leaned into him.

“That’s because I’m queerly fond of you,” Potter quipped. “You need to accept that. I’m not used to you being so self-conscious.”

“I suppose you bring out the best in me,” Draco muttered bitterly. “You’ve turned me into a complete weakling. I hope you’re pleased.”

“You’re performance on the obstacle course proves otherwise,” Potter disagreed. “You could be an Auror with those skills.”

Draco pulled back and stared at him incredulously. “Stop taking the piss.”

“I’m serious,” Potter insisted. “Have you ever thought about it?”

Draco frowned. “The Auror Department would never accept a former Death Eater into its ranks. I’d have more luck running for political office, which, in case you were wondering, would be a futile endeavor, and most likely end in my complete and utter humiliation.”

But Potter was frowning speculatively. “They need new Aurors now more than ever. You should at least try out. Proudfoot might even recommend you.”

Draco huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “I very much doubt that. She hates me.”

Potter shook his head and looked at him like Draco was the mad one here. “I don’t think so. She’s just tough.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“Just think about it,” Potter insisted.

Draco shook his head but didn’t reply, and Potter retook his hand, running a thumb along the scar on his palm. No matter how ridiculous Draco found the notion, however, he couldn’t help thinking on it as they sat beneath the shade of the oak and stared out across the glistening water. He’d never allowed himself to think on it before, of course, but he was surprised to find that, if it was indeed possible, he wouldn’t object to becoming an Auror. In fact, the idea excited him more than he’d ever thought possible. It was the prospect that he could do something to atone for his past; that he could actively capture those who had willingly committed the most heinous acts under the Dark Lord. Some of whom were still at large. He found he wanted to, because there was a rage that burned in the pit of his stomach since the moment Voldemort had taken the Manor for his own, and he’d never been able to douse it, even after the Dark Lord had died. There was also a helplessness that lingered inside of him to this day, and he hated it, burned to be rid of it, and maybe doing something proactive might finally free him from its suffocating weight.

He glanced over at Potter, the sunlight warming his face as he radiated a quiet confidence, and for the first time, Draco thought that maybe moving on would actually be possible for someone like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that moment when you first start a relationship with someone and suddenly you can’t focus on anything else but them? Like when people try to talk to you when your significant other is in the room and you barely even notice? Yeah, I think that’s where Harry and Draco are at this point. It’s both a thrilling and nerve wracking experience for all involved (and possibly irritating for others). I enjoy writing it, though. :) 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and your thoughtful comments.


	17. So Forget the Past

“We should go back in,” Draco stated breathlessly against Potter’s lips, Potter lying half on top of him in the shade of the oak.  He could tell the sun was setting by the pink hue dotting the clouds in the sky above, and he didn’t want to risk someone coming back out to look for them.

Potter pulled away and leaned over him.  Draco’s lips twitched at the expression of utter disappointment on his face.  “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Draco replied, pushing his fingers through Potter’s locks, still encrusted with dirt from the obstacle course.  “But I could use a shower, and so could you.  I’m afraid I have dried mud stuck up in unmentionable places.”

Potter chuckled.  “We certainly wouldn’t want that.”

Draco smirked.  “Well, I wouldn’t mind if something else was…”

He flushed and trailed off.  Potter stared at him, his expression losing some of its humor.  Draco frowned uncomfortably, hastening to back-peddle.  “I meant –“

But Potter’s adam’s apple dipped and he swallowed his words with a searing kiss.  Draco responded belatedly, nearly forgetting what he’d been talking about as Potter nibbled at his bottom lip and licked the abused flesh.  Draco could feel Potter’s hand run down his side, trailing heat before coming to rest on his outer thigh, and Draco had to shift a bit, his trousers growing uncomfortably tight.  He accidentally brushed his hips up against Potter’s with the movement, and Potter let out a muffled groan.  He retreated, gasping and flushed.

Draco stared up at him, breathless and nonplussed.

“I think we should…” Potter stated roughly, his eyes tracking something only he could see over Draco's shoulder. “Do you want to take a shower…together?”

Draco blinked, his face traitorously heating as Potter looked back down at him with an expression of apprehension and hope.

“Oh…er…” he stuttered lamely, his mind going curiously blank for a moment when he realized he would like that entirely too much.  He shook his head.  “We can’t.  Anyone could walk in on us.”

Potter bit his lip.  Draco could see the gears turning in his head, obviously too taken with the idea to give up.  “The Quidditch locker rooms.  Try-outs for this term haven’t started yet.  So they’ll be empty.”

Draco stared at him, trying to think of any con to that plan that had nothing to do with his nerves, but his brain was already muddled with the prospect of being very wet and very naked with Potter.  His body practically thrummed in anticipation, severely weakening his defense.  His voice came out fainter than he’d like.  “Eager, aren’t we?”

“Is that a yes?” Potter questioned, smiling slightly.

Draco sighed long-sufferingly, but he suspected Potter could see right through it.  “If you insist.”

Potter smiled winningly and kissed him again.  Draco couldn’t help smiling back against his lips, his heart rate quickening as he took the opportunity to lick into Potter’s mouth the moment his lips parted.  Potter groaned and pulled away, and Draco was ashamed to note that he whimpered a bit at the loss of contact, but Potter’s expression only grew more urgent.  “We should go.”

Draco nodded shakily and Potter rolled off of him, before standing up.  Draco gingerly sat up and took Potter’s offered hand, letting him pull him to his feet.  They stared at each other for a moment as they stood in front of the glistening lake, the sun dying in the sky, and Draco tried to calm his racing heart, but he could feel Potter’s hammering just as fast under the palm of his hand.

This meant something, and Potter seemed to understand that as much as he did.  This was more than just snogging on the grass with the unspoken boundaries of above-robe fondling.  This was something Draco had been itching to do since he’d noticed his attraction to Potter – probably even before that, really – but it had always seemed a bit of a fantasy, something he’d never actually be able to do.  Now that he was being given the chance, he almost didn’t know what to do with himself, but when Potter stepped away and grasped his hand as if sealing an unspoken promise, Draco could only follow him.

Neither of them spoke, and Draco would like to think that Potter was just as nervous as he was, their palms sweating where they touched.  He felt as if it was his first time all over again, which was a bit stupid because his actual first time hadn’t been particularly nerve-wracking at all.  He and Pansy had been completely pissed on smuggled Firewhiskey and Draco had barely been able to think straight let alone worry about where their muddled groping was leading.  The panic had only set in once he’d stumbled on top of her naked body and realized her chest was entirely too full, her hips too wide…her eyes too dark.  It had been an utter disaster, and he hadn’t had a chance or the inclination to approach anyone else since then, until Potter.  In a lot of ways, he thought uneasily, Potter was probably more experienced than he was.  It made those supposed rumors about him being some sort of Slytherin sex deity even more laughable.  

They reached the small, stone building and Potter cast an Alohomora on the wooden door. It creaked open and Draco followed him through the threshold, their shoes kicking dust up from the floor.  They both looked about.  Draco’s gaze caught on the shafts of red sunlight entering through the small, high windows, and catching on floating dust motes.  There was a room in the front, lined with old Quidditch gear and strategy maps posted to the walls, with two smaller rooms for each competing team in the back.  Draco was flooded with memories of chaotic pre-game and post-game strategy sessions with his Slytherin team mates here, but the feeling now in this empty building was different; more quiet and intimate, or maybe that was due to the situation. 

He followed Potter, his sweat-slick fingers still intertwined with his, to one of the smaller rooms where the shower stalls were.  The room was lined with benches and cubby holes and just at the back he could see the red sunlight glinting off of the standing shower faucets as if the room itself was spotlighting their intent.  Potter turned around, appearing relatively calm, but for the way his brows pinched together.  Draco only stared at him, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

Potter stepped forward cautiously as if Draco was some sort of injured animal who could turn on him at any moment, and caressed the palm of Draco’s hand with his thumb, his voice a bit rough when he spoke.  “Alright?”

“Fine,” Draco replied, glad that his own voice was even at least.         

Potter stared at him for a moment, appearing unsure, but Draco leaned forward and captured his lips, hastening to relieve the tension.  He wanted this and he wanted him.  His useless nerves could bugger off.

Potter shuddered in response and wrapped his arms around him, immediately pulling him in and taking his lower lip into his mouth.  He worried the abused flesh in a way he’d obviously learned Draco liked, if Draco’s frequent and involuntary noises were any indication.  He grew lightheaded and splayed his hands on Potter’s chest for support, feeling his erratic heartbeat, his hitched breaths vibrating beneath his palms.  He ran his tongue along the seam of Potter’s chapped lips and Potter opened his mouth obligingly, deepening the kiss until both of them were gasping into each other’s mouths.

Potter’s fingers buried in his hair and Draco shakily lowered his hands, sliding them down Potter’s front until his fingertips found the bottom of his shirt and slipped underneath, touching the hot skin there.  Potter gasped against his lips and flexed his grip on Draco’s back encouragingly.  So Draco pushed his fingers upward, tracing the soft skin over Potter’s lean abs, and raising his shirt in the process. 

Potter grunted and pulled away just enough to raise his arms, allowing Draco to push the shirt over his head.  His green eyes were glazed and his pupils were blown, a flush spreading from his cheeks to his chest as Draco watched.  Draco found it hard to catch his breath when Potter hastily slid the offending cloth of his shirt down one arm and dropped it on the floor, before recapturing his lips in a heated kiss.

Draco itched to feel Potter’s bare chest, and he raised his hands to caress the smooth skin.  He accidentally brushed one of Potter’s hardening nipples with his forefinger, and Potter gasped against his lips, so he did it again, deliberately circling it with his thumb.  Potter’s breathing grew ragged against his mouth, his movements more frantic.  His fingers flew to the top button of Draco’s shirt, but they kept on slipping and eventually, Potter made a frustrated noise and broke the kiss so he could see what he was doing.  Draco helped, his shaking fingers working up from the bottom until his shirt was open and Potter could pull it off, dropping it to the floor beside his.

Potter stood there and stared at Draco’s now bare chest, fixated, and Draco realized his eyes were tracing the long, silvery scar.  Draco shifted, raising an arm to cover it, but Potter raised a hand and trailed its length with a calloused finger.  “Can you feel that?”

Draco shuddered as Potter’s finger reached the end of the scarred flesh and slid further down to his stomach, sketching a line of fire that went straight to his already half-swollen cock.  By the time Potter’s touch reached the lip of his trousers, his voice was irrevocably broken.  “Yes.”

“Good,” Potter whispered huskily and he recaptured his lips, his movements more insistent.

Draco fumbled with Potter’s fly, wanting to feel Potter’s bare skin slide against his, and Potter worked on his with equal fervor.  The next moment, they were both kicking their trousers off and stumbling toward the shower stall, and soon after, their pants were down and nothing lay between them

Potter’s hands were everywhere, one tangling in his hair and the other sliding down the bare length of Draco’s side, completely unimpeded, kneading the flesh.  Draco could barely think, could barely feel anything but Potter’s touch, his hot breath against lips, his fingers in his hair, the feverish beat of his heart beneath his palm.  The next thing he knew, his sweaty back was shoved against the cool tile, the heat and length of Potter’s naked body pressed against his, and his cock throbbed warningly.  He thought he might lose it right then, but then Potter raised his thigh and Draco hissed at the unexpected pressure and amazing friction, automatically bucking along it, needing more.

“Fuck…” Draco gasped, opening his eyes at the sheer epiphany of it.

His head fell back, exposing his throat, and Potter took the opportunity to nibble and lick it, panting hotly against his flushed skin.  Draco whimpered and rolled his hips upward in search of more friction.  He’d never felt so needy or out of control, but he didn’t want to fight it, he didn’t think he could as Potter sucked harshly at the shockingly sensitive spot in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Somehow, he still needed more and Potter apparently agreed because he jerkily changed his stance, breathing raggedly into the crook of his neck as he looked down and wrapped his hand around their naked erections.   Draco groaned pitifully, the new feel of Potter’s equally swollen cock sliding along his and pressing hotly against him within Potter’s hold nearly undoing him.  He could feel just how much Potter wanted this, and that alone was almost enough to push him over the edge.  But he bit his lip, determined to hold off as long as he could.

“Merlin…” Potter uttered breathlessly amidst another jerky roll of his hips, pumping his hand along both of their cocks and severely undermining Draco’s tenuous control.  “This is…”

Draco nodded in vague agreement, barely able to think anymore as he mindlessly slid his hands down to Potter’s firm arse and pulled him against him in the ever-quickening rhythm Potter had set.  Potter hissed appreciatively, panting against Draco’s throat, mouthing the skin there any chance he had.  Their bodies grew slick with sweat and Draco whimpered.  He had already held on for far too long, and he couldn’t help tensing in anticipation before a tidal wave of pleasure washed over him, nearly buckling his legs out from underneath him.  Potter kept him upright, his body practically wrapped around him as his thrusts grew erratic, pumping against Draco’s softening cock and into the ring of his hand, until he stiffened as well.

Potter let out a groan and Draco clung to him while he shuddered violently in his arms.  It was a long moment before he finally collapsed against him, panting shallowly into the crook of his neck.

Draco fought to catch his breath and emerge from the euphoric state he’d been left in.  He rested his head back against the tile and closed his eyes, his body pleasingly limp.  After a long moment, Potter turned slightly and languidly mouthed at his throat, sliding the flat of his tongue over the sore spots.

Draco sighed and opened his eyes, his fuzzy thoughts a jumble in his head, but he raised an eyebrow when he stared up at the dry shower head.  “We didn’t even make it.”

Potter pulled back questioningly, before glancing over at the shower head as well.  He stared at it fuzzily for a moment, then he leaned over and turned the knob.  Absolutely frigid water sprayed down on them both, and Draco stiffened in alarm, suddenly very awake.  He scowled, but Potter had the grace to glance back at him sheepishly as he, too, shivered uncontrollably.

“Whoops,” Potter uttered, but then his lips twitched and he snorted.

Draco tried to maintain his scowl, but he couldn’t help laughing too as the water slowly warmed.  Potter kissed him between chuckles, imprinting the planes of his smile against his lips.

“Showers should definitely be a joint affair from now on,” Potter observed.

“So you say,” Draco drawled, unable to keep the roughness out of his voice.  “But next time I’d like to actually take a shower.”

“We’re doing that now,” Potter pointed out, spitting some water out of his mouth as a stream slid down his face.

“Hm…you forgot to take off your glasses," Draco admonished, pulling the round-rimmed frames off of his face and dangling them between them.

Potter shrugged.  “They’ve been through worse.  Besides, I reckon I removed all the things that mattered.

Draco smiled, squeezing Potter’s supple arse, making Potter hiss a bit as their lower bodies came back together.  “I’d have to agree.”

Potter grinned, his eyes warm.  “I’ve never…” he laughed a bit awkwardly, and turned off the tap, obviously tired of trying to talk through a stream of water.  “This is the first time I’ve ever – ”

“Me too,” Draco offered, saving him from having to continue.  Although then a thought occurred to him and he looked away.  “You and the Weaslette never…?”

“Frotted in a shower stall?” Potter finished, smiling wryly.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Not specifically, no.”

Potter’s smile fell away a bit and he sighed.  “We’d done other things. Yes.”

Draco frowned, but he didn’t say anything.  He had expected as much, of course.  It would have been stupid to have assumed otherwise with how long they’d been dating in the months before everything had gone to hell.

“Like what?” he heard himself ask, and immediately wished he could rescind his words.  He didn’t really want to know.

Potter stared at him, before looking away and biting his lower lip.  “Most things leading up to it.  We just never made it to that last step.”

“Hm,” Draco murmured vaguely, wishing he hadn’t even brought it up.

“But this was better than all of that,” Potter stated into the awkward silence.  He must have seen the disbelief on Draco's face, because Potter caressed his cheek with his thumb and insisted, “Everything with you is better. "

Draco stared at him, his heart in his throat again.  “You’re such a sap, Potter."

“Only with you,” Potter told him solemnly.  “And call me Harry.”

Draco ignored him, but couldn’t help smiling self-consciously as he pushed a hand through Potter’s wet hair to distract him.  The dirt had gotten wet and now it was disgustingly muddy.

Potter rested a hand on Draco’s bare hip and caressed the flesh there in a small circle with his thumb.  Draco found it highly distracting, but then Potter stilled and looked away.  “So you never…with Pansy?”

Draco shook his head, frowning a bit.  “I don’t think that counts.  We were drunk, and even then we’d barely made it very far.”

Potter glanced back at him.  “There was never anyone else?”

Draco let out a breath and looked down at Potter’s chest in favor of meeting his gaze.  “I hadn’t exactly figured it out before that, and after we…with everything that had happened, well…I wasn’t much in the mood.”

Potter stared at him for a long moment, then lowered his head and kissed his jaw, just below his ear.  He sighed.  “I’m glad Voldemort’s gone.”

Draco raised his head and Potter pulled away, his gaze full of things neither of them could admit out loud.  Draco carded his fingers through Potter’s muddy hair again, frowning a bit at the texture.  “We have to actually get clean now.”

“Fine,” Potter muttered mock grudgingly, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and he turned the knob again.

It took a lot longer to wash each other due to all of the intermittent snogging, but eventually, they managed to reach a certain level of cleanliness, and Draco turned off the tap.

The room was disconcertingly dark now that the sun had gone down so Draco lit his wand and Potter performed a wandless drying charm on them both.  Draco picked up his stiffening robes and realized he and Potter really hadn’t thought this through.  He sent Potter a significant look and Potter shrugged sheepishly, waving his wand and casting a Scourgify.

“It’ll have to do,” Potter muttered apologetically.

Draco frowned, but dressed in them just the same.  It wasn’t the cleanliness that necessarily bothered him, but the smell.  By the time he was done, he couldn’t escape the distinct odor of lake water. 

They walked back to the castle, bumping shoulders every once and a while, and entered the inviting and warmly lit Entrance Hall just in time for dinner.  They were both too tired to go all the way to the kitchens and besides, if they were absent any longer it would be sure to rouse suspicions, so Draco grudgingly agreed with Potter to take their meals in the Great Hall.

They pushed through the large doors and entered a world that was markedly louder and more crowded than the one they had just left.  It was made even more disconcerting by the fact that a large cadre of students, mostly witches, stared openly at Potter the moment they noticed his arrival.  Draco realized with no small amount of dread that the rumor of Potter’s new status as the most eligible bachelor in the magical world must have spread to the masses.  The room was practically full to the brim with blushing witches, and it took everything Draco had to abstain from grabbing Potter possessively and glaring at them all.

As they passed the Gryffindor table, however, the Weaslette was notably absent and her three friends seemed less than thrilled by Potter as he passed.  Potter noticed, but he kept walking, a grim expression on his face.  Draco glared at them from behind Potter’s back and the girls scowled at him in return.  Draco hastened to ignore them as he followed Potter to the Eighth Year table.  He could feel the heat of their glares burning into his back, not all of them coming from the Weaslette’s posse, but he forced himself to ignore that too.  The negative onslaught had become almost routine at this point, so much so that he honestly would have been more surprised if his arrival had gone unnoticed.   

A fair number of the Eighth Years sent Potter speculative looks, and put their heads together, speaking too low for Draco to hear.  Although some, like Finnigan, Smith, and Corner appeared far more interested in focusing on Draco, narrowing their eyes at him as he approached.  Draco frowned, but forced himself to ignore them too.  Potter was doing a good job of appearing unaffected, but Draco could tell it bothered him with the way his calm expression seemed to have frozen on his face.

Weasley raised an eyebrow at him and Potter the moment they sat down at their usual places across the table.  “And where have you two been, then?”

Draco shared a look with Potter, and realized in all of the excitement he had forgotten to think up a plausible alibi.  Granger eyed them and bit her lip, apparently taking note of their disheveled state and coming to all the right conclusions.  Draco would have glared at her if he hadn’t been so busy fighting the heat in his cheeks.

Potter lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, and Draco hoped Weasley didn’t notice how forced the action seemed.  “We were taking a shower.”

Weasley raised an eyebrow and Draco’s eyes widened in horror, breath hitching in his throat.

Potter seemed to realize his mistake too late and he hastily added, “Separately, of course.”

Weasley’s eyebrows rode up into his hairline and Draco wanted to die or hex someone, he wasn’t quite sure which.  Maybe both. Granger, however, looked as though Christmas had come early.  At least she had the decency to muffle her laughter behind her book.

“Of course…” Weasley agreed faintly, frowning at his girlfriend, before turning his attention to Draco.

Draco straightened his expression into something resembling stoic indifference, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was with his internal mortification.  Potter noisily scooped food onto his plate as if the sight of it might possibly divert Weasley’s attention, but Weasley had already cleared his plate and his attention remained squarely on Draco, his eyes narrowing.  Draco frowned, very much on edge.

“What is that on your throat, Malfoy?”

Draco stiffened and Potter’s eyes widened when he looked at Draco, his gaze sliding down to focus upon a very specific spot on his neck.  Draco immediately slapped a hand over the soreness, cursing himself and Potter for having forgotten to cover the bruises, but on the outside, he kept his expression cool, thinking fast.  “What are you talking about, Weasley?”

“Those bruises…” Weasley clarified, his eyes narrowing further.  “They look like –“

“Oh, those,” Draco drawled, doing his best to sound unconcerned.  “They’re probably from the obstacle course.”

Weasley frowned suspiciously and Potter pointedly shoved some food into his mouth, before choking and coughing.

When Potter regained utility of his windpipe, Granger apparently took pity on them and put down her book, her expression mercifully devoid of her earlier amusement.  “By the way, Harry, I thought you should know that we were approached by a number of…enterprising, lower year girls in the library today, asking if the rumors about you and Ginny are true.  I would be careful with what I eat and drink in the coming weeks, if I were you.  And don’t be surprised if you receive a few love letters.  They appeared quite taken with the idea of taking Ginny’s place.”

Potter’s expression soured and he stabbed some green beans with his fork.  “Brilliant.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Weasley stated thoughtfully, his odd expression as he eyed Potter not quite disappearing.  “A fair few of them were quite fit.”

Granger frowned at him sharply, and Weasley put his hands up, adding, “not as fit as you, of course, ‘Mione.”

Granger raised an eyebrow, but her shoulders lowered as the tension left her.  “You always know just the right thing to say, Ron.”

Weasley frowned uncomfortably, most likely aware that she was only humoring him, and Draco’s mood soured as he pondered the news.  He was not looking forward to watching the witches of Hogwarts try to woo his boyfriend… Draco’s mind went blank for a moment at the thought, tripping over the word.  He realized he’d never actually put a name to their new status until that moment, but he supposed it would best describe what Potter was to him now.  Even if their relationship was secret, Potter was his boyfriend.  Wasn’t he?  Something warm fluttered in his chest.   He couldn’t deny it was an odd concept objectively, but it felt right.

Even now, Draco itched to lean against Potter and touch him in the familiar manner the Weaslette had done in public countless times before.  He wanted to push his fingers through his messy hair and wipe stray sauce off of his chin with his thumb.  He wanted to kiss him at the table and joke with him as they had back in the locker room.  He particularly wanted to tell Potter’s potential suitors to sod off, because Potter was his and his alone.  He wanted all of that more than anything, but he wasn’t naïve.  If others found out about their relationship, Draco would not only face societal scorn for his past misdoings but accusations that he was despoiling the Wizarding world’s darling Savior.  It would be utterly disastrous, and given Potter’s high-profile status, it would reverberate past the walls of Hogwarts and across the entire Wizarding world.

He couldn’t let that happen.  He wasn’t sure their relationship could survive that.  Although, he thought with mounting concern, he wasn’t sure their relationship could survive in secret either.  It had been difficult from the start to deny his feelings for Potter in public, but now that their relationship was progressing it had only become harder, and Potter was a horrible liar.  Even Weasley was growing suspicious.  It wouldn’t be long before others did too.

Draco frowned.  They needed to be more careful, and he needed to ignore Potter’s potential suitors.  He couldn’t allow himself to get so worked up over a few love-struck witches.  Even though it was still a bit hard for him to believe, Potter wanted him, and he wasn’t going to be swayed by a pretty face.  He wasn’t the type.  Draco had learned at least that much.  His insecurities on the matter were ridiculous, full stop.

It grew late and they finished their meal before returning to their House.  The common room was sparsely populated by lingering Eighth Years.  Corner, Boot, and Finch-Fletchley were playing a game of exploding snap at a table in the corner, and Brown and the Patil twins were studying by a window.

Draco followed Weasley and Potter up to the boy’s dormitory, where a fair number of four-posters were already occupied.  Weasley got ready for bed in the dimly-lit room, and Draco riffled through his trunk, taking off his soiled robes and shirt.  Potter lingered beside his own four-poster, standing there as Weasley nodded to him and climbed onto his mattress, closing the curtains around him.

Draco was surprised when arms wrapped around his bare torso from behind, and he tensed, but he didn’t have the heart to escape.  He shuddered involuntarily when Potter mouthed the back of his neck, heating the skin with his tongue.

“Potter,” Draco whispered warningly, but when he turned his head to glance back at him, Potter lifted a hand to his jaw and pulled him into a kiss.  Draco responded automatically, moving his lips before his mind started working properly and he pulled away.  Potter grunted a bit and attempted to chase his retreating lips to no avail.  Then he stared at him, looking perfectly at a loss, when Draco stepped out of his hold.

“We can’t,” Draco insisted weakly, bringing his hand up and tugging at Potter’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his face.

Potter blinked and frowned.  His voice was low and rough when he spoke.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  I just wanted…”

“I know,” Draco admitted, unable to stop himself.  “I do too.”

Potter stared at him, his eyes practically glowing in the dark.  The next instant he was in Draco’s space, whispering against his lips, his fingers buried in his flaxen hair.  “You can’t…don’t say that.  Not if you want me to stop.”

Draco moaned brokenly and somehow, the next moment, his lips were pressing insistently against Potter’s, his fingers kneading at his back, one hand sliding down to Potter’s arse and pulling him closer.  Their mutual arousal was instantly apparent and Potter hissed appreciatively, rocking his hips.  Draco grunted, his concern for being discovered quickly receding under an all-encompassing fog of need.  He was drowning again, thrusting against Potter recklessly as Potter mouthed his throat and pushed him back against his four-poster.  They fell onto his mattress, Potter on top, grinding their hips together in a slow rhythm that left both of them breathless.

“The curtains…” Draco managed to gasp out, and Potter complied, sitting back and closing his bed curtains, casting a wandless muffliato for good measure.

Then he cast something else, and Draco was shocked to find himself without clothes.  Potter was equally nude as he leaned back over him.  Potter had Vanished their clothes, and Draco was about to protest the loss of his favorite trousers, but then Potter lowered his hips and slid their lower bodies together in such a way that made him lose all higher brain function.  Draco groaned, bending his knees on either side of Potter’s slim hips to give him room to settle in, his toes curling into the sheets.  Draco looked up and saw Potter staring down at him, his face flushed in the low light, his lips parted around shallow breaths as he and Potter moved against each other.

On impulse, Draco reached up and pulled Potter’s glasses away, the one article spared from Potter’s earlier spell.  Potter’s gaze softened when Draco carefully placed them down on the mattress beside them before burying the fingers of one hand back in Potter’s hair, his other hand falling back onto the pillow beside his head.  Potter covered it with his own, tangling their fingers together, and slowed their pace.  Potter didn’t break eye contact, and with every painfully slow rock of their hips, the coiling ache in Draco’s groin grew until he could barely breathe.  They moved against each other steadily until Potter’s expression shuttered and he dropped his head down, breathing hotly against the crook of Draco’s neck.

“You should see yourself…” he moaned, before tracing the flushed, sensitive skin with the tip of his tongue and sucking on it harshly.

“What do you see?”  Draco questioned, breath hitching. 

Potter pulled away to regard him, his gaze darting about Draco’s face.  “You.”

Draco actually whimpered, warmth pooling in his gut, because somehow there was more meaning behind that one word than any other platitude Potter could have given.  He kissed Potter hard enough to bruise, and Potter increased the pace of his thrusts.  Draco rolled his head back, gasping as their bodies met again and again, their hardening cocks, slick with precum, sliding together.  Potter’s tongue trailed over the sensitive skin of his exposed throat, and sucked at it harshly with his mouth.  Soon enough, Draco could barely breathe and he could feel Potter grow equally breathless, panting wetly against his throat.

The pleasure coiled warningly in his gut with each roll of their hips, and when Potter bit down on the juncture between his shoulder and neck, his hips stuttering down against him, it was enough to push him over the edge.  His body tensed and he saw white, the intensity of his orgasm surprising him even as he shuddered uncontrollably.   Potter grunted and then he was jerking his hips down faster, his body shaking in his race to join Draco.  Draco rolled his hips up to meet him, still riding the high of his climax, but a squeeze to his hand moments later was Draco’s only warning, before Potter’s muscles tightened beneath his fingers and he groaned out his release.

Draco stared up at the dark ceiling, panting harshly, and Potter collapsed on top of him.  Draco pushed up on his chest a bit, struggling to breathe under his weight, and Potter obligingly rolled a bit to the side, their legs still entangled. 

Draco closed his eyes, caught in the haze of blissful release for a long moment, until panic gripped him.  He opened his eyes, breath hitching.  He had lost control in their own dormitory where some of their dorm mates had been sleeping, and he had no idea how loud he and Potter had been before they had managed to cast the muffliato.  He had no idea if anyone had noticed.  Weasley could very well have.  Weasley had barely entered his four-poster before Draco and Potter had lost their wits and snogged each other senseless.

Draco sat up, suddenly tense, and Potter grunted with surprise as he was forced to slide off entirely.  Draco stared at the bed curtains, angry with himself and with Potter for letting it get this far.  He could only hope no one else had heard, because he didn’t know how he could explain this if they had.  He could feel Potter staring at his back, but he ignored it.

“What’s wrong?”  Warm, sweat-slicked fingers slid up his spine and he could hear Potter shifting behind him, sitting up as well.

Draco shook his head, blood rushing in his ears. “Do you have clothes you can change into?”

Potter’s hand stopped moving, and he let out a short breath.  “I can Accio some from my trunk.”

“Silently?” Draco questioned, his tone sharp.

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment and Draco frowned.

“No one will notice.”

“You don’t know that, Potter,” Draco disagreed.  “You don’t know what others will and won’t notice.  You don’t know if they’ve already heard us or not.  For all you know, we’d made enough noise with our fumbling to awaken the mermaids in the lake, but I’m beginning to think you don’t care.”

Potter sighed.  “I’m sorry.”

“I doubt that,” Draco stated spitefully, his fear overriding everything else.

There was a long silence, and then Potter tugged at Draco’s shoulder, forcing him to turn back around.  Draco didn’t resist, but he glared at Potter for good measure when he faced him.  Potter was frowning.  “You could have stopped me.”

“No,” Draco scowled, his frustration growing.  “I couldn’t have.  That’s the point!”

Potter stared at him for a moment, his expression softening.  When Potter reached for him, Draco wanted to slap his hand away, but in the end, he couldn’t move.  He let Potter pull him forward until his cheek was resting against Potter’s chest.  He could hear the steady beat of Potter’s heart as Potter carded long fingers through his hair.  Potter sighed.  “What are you afraid of?”

Draco tensed and sat back, but Potter kept his hand at the base of his neck, holding him in place.  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

Potter frowned.  “Don’t do this, Draco.  Don’t shut me out.  Not now.”

“I’m not –“ Draco denied, but Potter interrupted him.

“You are,” Potter argued.  “I can tell you’re afraid.  Don’t lie.  You’ve done this before, but I’m not going to let you do it again.  I’m not going to let you face things alone anymore.  We’re through with that.  I need you to talk to me.”

“I’m not weak,” Draco retorted.

“I never thought you were,” Potter replied earnestly.  “And I never will.”

Potter met his stare steadily, until his defensive anger melted away, leaving him empty and drained.  He looked away, no longer able to meet Potter’s gaze.

“Please talk to me, Draco.”

Draco clenched his jaw, but Potter’s fingers moved along the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles as he pulled one of Draco’s fisted hands, the one with the scar, onto his thigh and loosened it enough to intertwine their fingers.  

Draco looked down at their hands, biting his lip, and shook his head. “We have to be more careful.”

“Why?” Potter questioned.  “What will happen if others find out?”

Draco raised his head sharply and stared at him.  “You said you understood.”

“I understand that you think if people find out about us, they’ll become angry,” Potter stated.  “But I don’t know why you care.”

Draco glared at him and Potter shook his head.  “Sorry, that came out wrong.  What I mean is, I don’t understand why that possibility scares you.”  Draco opened his mouth, but Potter interrupted him.  “And don’t say it doesn’t.  I’ve seen it in your eyes.  The idea that others might find out about us horrifies you, and I want to know why.”

Draco stared at him, uncertain what to say.  He didn’t want Potter to know what he faced.  He wanted to take care of it on his own, in his own way.  It was his fight, and he’d never forgive himself if he couldn’t overcome it.  He chose his words carefully.  “I don’t want the entire Wizarding world privy to our private affairs.  If anyone else finds out, whatever we have will be front page news in the Daily Prophet and it will become a media frenzy.  Witches and Wizards from across the country will either think the former Death Eater has seduced their Savior for his own nefarious purposes or they’ll think you’ve gone mad.  I don’t want to have to deal with that and I don’t want you to have to deal with that either.”

Potter’s expression turned grim as he listened, and when Draco stopped speaking, he bit his lower lip, his brows knitting.  “I don’t want that either, but…I would be willing to face all of that and more for you.  I’d tell them I’m in love with you and if they can’t accept that, then they can just bugger off.”

Draco stared at him, his heart in his throat.  It was the first time he’d heard Potter say he loved him, and even though it had been implied since his confession in the Shrieking Shack, the actual declaration triggered a violent swooping sensation in his stomach.  He looked down at their entwined hands again, unable to say anything.  Potter caressed his hand with his thumb.

Potter breathed out in the silence.  “I wasted so much time denying what I felt for you, and all it did was make things worse.  I was afraid that allowing myself to feel this way would make me lose control, and…it has a bit, but…I like it.  I like how you make me feel, even if it can be a bit nerve wracking, and I don’t want to deny what you are to me anymore.  I’ll be more careful if that’s what you want, but I’ll do it for you, not for me.  I’ve dealt with the press all my life, so maybe I’m better equipped to deal with negative attention, but I won’t make you deal with it too.  I’m sorry that I’m…famous, and…if you were dating anyone else you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.  I’m – ”

“It’s alright,” Draco uttered, his voice embarrassingly hoarse.  He looked back up at him, holding his gaze, feeling his will to resist crumbling around him.  Potter had said more than enough.  “I don’t want to be with anyone else.  Just…give me some time to…”

Draco trailed off and Potter nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips.  Draco leaned heavily against him until they were lying down again, Draco splayed on top this time, his head resting on Potter’s chest.  Potter carded his fingers through his hair and Draco rested his hand over Potter’s heart.

The torch light went out and the room fell into pitch blackness.  Draco couldn’t help closing his eyes, even as he told himself he shouldn’t fall asleep, but just before he lost consciousness completely, he felt Potter’s lips brush over his temple.  Then Potter slid out from under him and slipped out into the darkness.

The room went silent and still for a long moment, until Weasley’s mattress creaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I went to Mexico. DX
> 
> Also, go see How to Train Your Dragon 2 if you haven't already. It's a great movie. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	18. And Just Hurry Yourself From Here

When Draco woke up, he shivered a bit and realized he was still lying on top of the covers without any clothing to protect him from the morning chill.  He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, memories of the day before flitting through his groggy mind.  Potter had left him at some point in the night, and now here he lay, wishing Potter was still there.  He could just hear his dorm mates shuffling about past the buzz of the muffliato Potter had cast on his bed curtains.  He rubbed his eyes and sat up, wondering how he was going to retrieve his clothes from his trunk without them noticing he was completely starkers.  He absently scratched his bare chest in thought, realizing irritably that he might just have to wait it out until they all left for breakfast. 

Suddenly, the curtains moved and Draco stiffened, before he hastily climbed under the covers, holding them up to his chest like a shield.  Barely moments later, Potter poked his head in.

“Draco, are you…?” he trailed off and appeared slightly sheepish as he noticed Draco’s state of undress.  “Er…”

Draco glared at him, just able to spot Corner and Longbottom, who were thankfully busy getting dressed, through the open slit in the curtains.  “Do you mind, Potter?”

Potter glanced behind him, and tensed before sending him an apologetic look, his cheeks flushing.  “Sorry.”

He closed the curtains and Draco relaxed, but he had to fight the ridiculous urge to call Potter back in to join him.  His certainty that Potter wouldn’t hesitate to comply made it all the more difficult, but he bit his tongue.

“I was just wondering if you were going to breakfast,” Potter muttered from behind the curtains, having apparently taken down the muffliato.  

“I was planning to,” Draco replied, but then he stared down at his lap, wishing he could somehow get to his clothes.  “Although I may be a bit late.”

“Er…right,” Potter replied, seeming to catch on to his predicament.  “I’ll wait for you, then.”

“Thanks,” Draco sighed, then he muttered in a slightly accusing tone.  “It _is_ the least you could do.”

Potter didn’t reply, but then Draco could hear him conversing in a low voice with someone on the other side, although he couldn’t pick out the words.  It was lost in the idle chatter that filled the room as the others got dressed.

Corner was ribbing Longbottom in a loud voice about his apparent absence the night before.  “I can’t believe you’re getting more action than the rest of us, Nev.”

“Well…er…” Longbottom stuttered, clearly flustered. 

Corner didn’t let him finish, in any event, as he went on to whinge.  “I need a girlfriend.”

“Good luck with that,” Boot informed him.  “Now that Harry’s free, us normal blokes hardly stand a chance.”

They went silent, probably to make sure Potter hadn’t heard them, but Corner spoke again in a voice too quiet for Draco to hear, and Draco narrowed his eyes, wondering what he could possibly be saying.  He doubted it was anything good. 

“…but don’t keep us waiting too long.”  Another voice rose above the din from the spot near where he’d last heard Potter speak.  It sounded like Weasley.  He should have known.

“You and Hermione can go without us then,” Potter replied.  “We’ll meet you in the Great Hall.”

There was a long pause and then Weasley finally let out a gruff, “Fine.”  He sounded a bit agitated, and something about his tone set Draco on edge. 

Potter didn’t say anything else and Draco supposed Weasley had gone.  He could hear Boot and Corner chatting, but they’d changed topics as they passed Potter and walked out the door.  Longbottom greeted Potter as he passed next, his shuffling steps marking his progress out of the room.  The last thing he heard was Finch-Fletchley conversing with MacMillan about their Charms assignment, before they left the room as well.  It went mercifully silent after that.

A moment later, Potter poked his head in through the opening in his curtains before climbing onto his bed and closing them behind him.  Draco frowned, but he didn’t object when Potter crawled toward him and straddled his covered lap, kissing him in greeting.

“Good morning,” Potter murmured, smiling softly, his pupils dilated a bit as he slid a hand down Draco’s chest and let it rest dangerously close to Draco’s crotch.

“Am I ever going to get dressed?” Draco wondered out loud, trying to sound exasperated and failing.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Potter admitted, sliding his hand lower.

Draco swallowed, his heart rate increasing exponentially.  “What about Weasley and Granger?”

“This won’t take long,” Potter informed him, his eyes full of promise, and Draco couldn’t help trembling a bit in anticipation.

“I’ve created a monster,” he observed weakly.

Potter sent him an amused half-smile and slowly sat back, before sliding the covers away, revealing Draco’s half-hard predicament.  Potter stared down and Draco flushed, realizing it was the first time Potter had really taken the time to look at him.  He shifted uncomfortably, and then Potter looked back up at his face, his eyes a bit glazed. 

“I don’t think you should ever wear clothing again,” Potter stated earnestly, but Draco could tell he was only half-joking. 

Draco chuckled a bit at the absurdity of that statement, but it made him feel slightly more at ease. “You just want me trapped in my four-poster.”

Potter smiled.  “There’s a thought.”

He kissed him then and Draco let him, gasping into his mouth when Potter inevitably fumbled his hand toward his hardening erection and wrapped his fingers around it.  Draco pulled away just long enough to gasp, “muffliato,” and Potter obliged, casting another on the bed curtains.  Instead of straddling him again, Potter gently pressed him back against the mattress and lay down beside him, tangling his legs with his.  He proceeded to kiss Draco senseless, curling his warm hand around him again, and caressing the swollen tip with his calloused thumb. 

Draco groaned helplessly and pushed his fingers through Potter’s hair as Potter’s hand moved.  He unconsciously arched up into his grip, making their movements jerky and awkward at first until they both managed to settle into a mutual rhythm.  The tension in his groin inexorably built with every push and pull, and he tried to map out Potter’s mouth with his tongue between hitched breaths, but when Potter eventually pulled away and lowered his mouth to the crook of his neck, sucking on it harshly, it was finally too much, and he groaned in warning.

Potter grunted and pumped faster, his palm slick with sweat.  After a few more minutes, there was nothing Draco could do but let go, shuddering and arching one last time as he dug his fingers into Potter’s scalp.  Potter grunted and trembled against him, but Draco barely noticed it in his euphoric haze.

When he fell back to earth, he opened his eyes blearily to find Potter smiling down at him, still conspicuously clothed.  Draco frowned. 

“And now I suppose you expect me to get up,” Draco stated tiredly, feeling as though he was due for another nap, but he couldn’t help the upward twitch of his lips as Potter absentmindedly brushed his thumb across his nipple before sliding his hand down his naked side. 

“You’ll feel more awake after eating,” Potter replied, but then he frowned a bit.  “Probably.”

“Tosser,” Draco muttered, but there was no heat to it.  Although, his usual panic about their dorm mates started to creep in, and he struggled to sit up.  “I need to get dressed.”

Potter fished under his pillow before handing Draco his wand.  Draco nodded and cast a Scourgify on the mess on his stomach. 

Potter sat up beside him and rubbed his hand down Draco’s spine absently.  Draco tried to contain a shiver, but he wasn’t sure he was entirely successful.  Potter was going to be the death of him.  He just knew it.  Although, Potter appeared oblivious to his inner struggle as he stared at the curtains.

“I’ll get you some clothes out of your trunk,” Potter offered.    

Draco nodded and Potter dispelled the muffliato.  They both listened silently for anything on the other side, but it was quiet, so Potter cautiously opened the curtains and peered about, before he slipped off the bed and out of sight.  A moment later, he handed Draco a stack of his clothes, including some dark slacks, pants, and a grey button-up shirt.  Potter left him to it, but as he dressed, he had a thought.

“Potter.”

“What?” Potter murmured, then poked his head back in, watching him questioningly.

Draco frowned, suddenly feeling ridiculous as he was only in his pants and halfway into his shirt.  He bit the inside of his lip, looking away.  “You gave me a…but I didn’t…”

Potter flushed when Draco glanced back at him, and it was his turn to look away as he pushed an awkward hand through his messy hair.  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Draco stared at him in bemusement.  “Why?”

“I sort of…” Potter paused uncomfortably.  “Came at the sight of you.”

Draco’s eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest, and Potter shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Draco’s lips twitched up into a smile, eager to ease Potter’s obvious discomfort at the admission.  The idea that the mere sight of him was enough for Potter to…well, that was certainly something worth boasting about.  “I’ve been known to have that effect on people.”

Potter’s lips twitched a bit and he glanced at him with a raised brow, his expression relaxing.  “Really?”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” Draco drawled.  “I was known as a Slytherin sex god for a reason.”

Potter’s smile widened and then he chuckled and shook his head.  Draco smirked and leaned back, staring at him.  Potter’s smile fell a bit, his expression softening as he gazed at him.  “If you don’t get dressed soon, I won’t be able to leave you alone.”

Draco’s smirk widened, and he shook his head.  “Fine, close the curtains.”

Potter complied, although he looked a bit disappointed that Draco had agreed.  Draco let out a long breath and forced himself to dress quickly. He really needed to eat before lessons and time was slipping away. 

When he stepped out of his four-poster, Potter ran a hand through his fair hair and pecked him on the lips. When Potter pulled away, Draco fingered his greasy locks with a slight frown. Then retrieved his wand from under his pillow and cleaned his hair as best he could.  He ran a hand through it again, itching to check it in the bathroom mirror.

Potter had the gall to roll his eyes.  “It looks fine.”

“I’m not quite sure your opinion on hair care can be trusted,” Draco stated dryly, sending Potter’s messy mop a pointed look.

Potter frowned.  “There’s nothing I can do about it.  It does what it wants.”

Draco’s lips twitched.  “Your favorite excuse.  It’s just like your wand.”

“Which one?” Potter quipped, grinning mischievously. 

Draco couldn’t help chuckling the moment he understood what Potter was getting at.  “Both, actually. Honestly, your lack of control is appalling.”         

Potter sent him a harassed look, although the warmth didn’t quite leave his eyes.  “If we stay here any longer, Ron’s going to get suspicious.”

“Fine, fine,” Draco replied mock grudgingly, although privately, he thought that Weasley had already reached that point.  “Lead the way.”

But just as Potter turned toward the door, Draco glanced at his reflection in the mirror beside it, and brushed a hand through his hair again, flattening the stray strands.

They made their way out of the tower side by side, the halls relatively empty due to it being the middle of breakfast.  When they entered the Great Hall, dark storm clouds were roiling ominously in the ceiling, making the floating candles seem brighter by comparison.  As expected, eyes all about the room swiveled toward them upon their arrival, but Potter’s attention was on one particular red-head, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table, her back to them.  Draco bit the inside of his cheek, but he didn’t say anything.  It was clear Potter was still a bit uncomfortable with how things had ended with the Weaslette, and no matter how much it pained him to admit, Draco could understand at least that much.  He had suffered an inkling of that with Pansy, who had been his friend above everything else, before things became irretrievably awkward. 

The Weaslette’s friends caught sight of them, however, and their expressions darkened.  One of them leaned forward and said something to the Weaslette and she stiffened, but didn’t turn around.  Potter looked away then, his brows knitted, but Draco’s gaze lingered long enough to spot Wolpert and Peakes huddling with their Gryffindor posse near the end of the table and sending him dark looks.  Draco glared at them as he passed.

When they reached the Eighth Year table, Draco was a bit disturbed to find his owl perched on his plate, staring back at him exasperatedly.  Weasley nodded to Potter shortly, but quickly glanced away and was otherwise unnervingly silent.  Granger looked up from her Daily Prophet, appearing a bit harassed. 

“He’s been here since the beginning of breakfast,” Granger informed Draco, nodding toward his owl.  “He’s been quite agitated.”

Potter sat down, staring at the owl in bemusement, and Draco sighed as Elatus glared at him accusingly in as much as an owl could manage such a thing. There was a large package attached to his leg and Draco moved as quickly as he could to remove it before Elatus’s sharp beak could nip at his fingers, but he wasn’t successful and the owl pecked his knuckle deeply enough to make it bleed.  Draco yelped and pulled his hand back, staring at the blood as it beaded up on his pale skin, before sucking on it.  “Stupid bird.”

Elatus puffed up and screeched as if he was laughing.

“Seems smart to me,” Weasley muttered toward his pancakes, not even looking at him, and Draco glared, his knuckle throbbing.

“Let me see that.” Potter tugged at his wrist and Draco reluctantly released his hand for Potter’s perusal.  Potter pulled out his wand and healed it.  Draco sighed gratefully as the swelling went down, and Potter looked back up at him, still holding his wrist.  “Better?”

“I need to learn that spell,” Draco muttered.

Potter shrugged, absently rubbing the little circles into Draco’s wrist with his thumb.  “I could teach it to you.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but then he noticed Granger sending him a look and Weasley staring at their hands with a pinched expression, and Draco snatched his hand away as if burned. 

He sat down and agitatedly waved the bird off of his plate.  Elatus screeched and puffed up, fluttering his wings until one of his feet landed in the butter dish.  Potter snatched the package away with a Seeker’s reflex before the bird could right itself enough to fight back.  He handed it to Draco and he took it, barely looking at him.  “Thanks.”

Elatus hooted disdainfully and shook his buttered claws before flapping his wings and awkwardly lifting off.  Draco glared at the bird as he circled the stormy ceiling before he slipped out one of the high windows. Then he looked down at the package and read the attached note, recognizing his mother’s handwriting.  He ripped it open, already suspecting what it contained. 

“What is it?” Potter questioned as he shoveled some pancakes onto his plate. 

“Sweets,” Draco replied, pulling out a bag labeled _Bonbon Enchanté_ , a Parisian chocolatier.  He unraveled the ribbon holding it closed and pulled out a truffle, handing it to Potter. 

Potter took it and stared at the sparkling wrapping as it shimmered ethereally. 

“I’ve never seen sweets quite like that before,” Granger observed.

“They’re French,” Draco drawled.  “My mother won’t buy from anywhere else.  Parisian chocolate is the best.”

“I thought that was Swiss,” Granger stated skeptically, but Draco handed her a truffle and scoffed.

“Maybe in the muggle world,” Draco stated disdainfully.  “But the best magical chocolate is from Paris.”

“It’s also horrendously expensive,” Weasley muttered bitterly.  “Only a complete ponce would waste Galleons on chocolate.”

Draco opened his mouth for a scathing rebuke, but Granger swiftly interrupted him, clearly aware where he was headed and unwilling to allow their petty disagreement to devolve into a row about the Weasley’s finances.  She sent Draco a quelling look, and held up her Daily Prophet.  “Apparently, there have been some Dark Mark sightings recently.”

Draco stiffened.

“Where?” Potter questioned, his interest piqued.

Granger skimmed the article again.  “Near muggle homes with ties to the magical world, either through children or cousins, all across Britain.  There was one in Oxfordshire two days ago, and several in Kent last night, but those weren’t the first incidents of it, only the latest.”

“How long has this been going on?” Potter asked, frowning. 

“The Prophet has only started reporting it, but I suspect it’s been going on longer than that,” Granger replied grimly. “Kingsley has been keeping a lot of things under wraps since the Death Eater trials.”

She glanced at Draco, who frowned.  He remembered those all too well, and he’d rather not dwell on them. 

“Maybe I’ll write to him,” Potter stated.  “Just to see if more is going on.”

Draco stared at him.  Potter had spoken so casually about contacting the Minister for Magic, it was disconcerting, but he supposed it shouldn’t have been. Sometimes he forgot just how influential Potter had become, which was a bit stupid.  No matter what some people might say behind Potter’s back, his opinion mattered in the Magical world and his allies populated the Ministry.  The new Minister for Magic himself had been tasked with protecting Potter on more than one occasion before and during the war, including during the final battle.  The man probably not only liked him, but respected him, and the same could be said for a majority of the remaining Aurors.  Add the magical community’s idol worship of Potter as their Savior just after the Dark Lord’s defeat, and Potter’s political standing was practically unmatched by any other individual. 

This all should have been obvious to him from the start, but Draco had never realized just how powerful Potter was until that moment.  Even though Potter’s fame was still apparent within the castle, it was easy to forget the scope of it within the walls of Hogwarts as they mimed the lives of proper students, separated and apart from the rest of the Magical world.  Despite his recent hardships, Draco had let himself get lulled into the fantasy that what he did at Hogwarts mattered more than anything else, but he would have to leave here soon, and when he did, his school record wouldn’t matter nearly as much as his reputation, which was dismal at best.  It was hardly an uplifting thought. 

“I’ll ask my dad if he’s heard anything,” Weasley offered, although he still couldn’t quite look Potter in the eye, which was disturbing.  “With his connections, he’s bound to know if there are things that have been going unreported.”

“Alright,” Potter nodded, although he frowned at Weasley as he continued to avoid his gaze.  “I don’t know, though.  It doesn’t sound like much, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“So do I,” Granger agreed, glancing between Weasley and Potter with knitted brows.  “Voldemort may be gone, but I’ve always suspected his remaining followers who had managed to escape prosecution wouldn’t lay low for long, and the Ministry is still rebuilding.  The last I read, the Auror Department is still at half strength.  Word is Head Auror Gawain Robards is calling for an unprecedented level of recruitment.  Usually, prospective Aurors never pass the rigorous tests and only one or two are accepted into the Department every three years.  It sounds as if Robards is planning to accelerate their acceptance rate.”

“I know,” Potter replied grimly.  “Kingsley told me as much last summer when he practically begged me to forgo another year at Hogwarts and join the Aurors instead.”

Weasley’s eyes widened and he finally locked eyes with him.  “You never told us that.”

Potter shrugged, sending Granger a look. “It didn’t seem important.  By that point, we had already decided to come back.”

Draco suspected what he had really meant was that Granger had already decided and pressured them both into complying.  Granger appeared suitably red in the face as both Weasley and Potter glanced at her, confirming Draco’s theory.

“Honestly, it was for the best,” Granger stated defensively.  “We need this time to figure out what we want to do without outside pressure.  Besides, now that Voldemort’s gone, we deserve the chance to make our own decisions and plan our future.  And just because the Ministry is in need doesn’t mean NEWTs are any less important.  We won’t be here for much longer, and we’ll need our wits about us when we finally do apply for jobs.”

“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Potter assured her as he dribbled more syrup onto his pancake.  “I wasn’t exactly eager to enter the Ministry right away anyway.”

Granger gazed at him, her expression understanding, before she glanced at Weasley.

Weasley only shrugged, and muttered, “At least here at Hogwarts, we’re getting Animagus lessons.  I reckon they’ll still need Aurors when we get out, and we’re practically getting Auror training already from Proudfoot, which is more than a bit convenient, isn’t it?”

Potter nodded.  “I thought so too.”

“You mean the Minister for Magic sent Proudfoot to Hogwarts specifically to train you?” Draco questioned, raising a brow, although he had to admit, it would make sense.

“Not just me,” Potter denied.  “Everyone else as well.  He’s desperate for recruits and I reckon this was all he could do to stomach the fact that most of the students who fought in the war would still be at Hogwarts for a make-up year.”

“Either way,” Weasley stated, glancing at Granger.  “Hermione’s right.  We can’t let the Ministry push us around anymore.” 

Granger seemed to relax and she smiled gratefully, but Draco was left feeling a bit out of sorts.  He doubted finding a job after NEWTs would be nearly so easy for him.  No matter how dire the need was for Aurors, he was still an ex-Death Eater and no one was likely to forget that, especially now that the Dark Mark was enjoying a resurgence all across Britain. 

His poor mood followed him to the Charms classroom, and he could barely pay attention to Flitwick’s lecture on the Protean Charm and its various uses.  Voldemort had used a variant of it to create the Dark Mark, and Draco had used that charm to communicate with Madame Rosmerta when he’d had her under the Imperius curse, so the subject only made him feel worse. They were assigned some objects to cast it on, and given his history with it, it was almost too easy for him.  He mechanically helped Potter when he struggled, and Potter watched him all the while, his brows knitted, but Draco avoided his gaze. 

Potter didn’t say anything about it until they were out of the castle and on their way to Care of Magical Creatures, lagging a bit behind the rest of the Eighth Years. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Draco denied, staring straight ahead and avoiding his questioning gaze.  The clouds were dark and forbidding overhead, and he breathed in ozone.  It looked as though a downpour was going to start any minute.   

“Liar,” Potter accused, but there wasn’t any heat to it.  He bumped his shoulder against his.  “You’ve been out of sorts since breakfast.  Is it the Death Eater activity?”

“Death Eaters can’t be doing this,” Draco corrected wearily.  “All of the Death Eaters have either been killed or put in Azkaban.  Except for my mother and I.  Whoever is doing this is either an imitator or an adherent of the Dark Lord’s cause, someone who never received the Dark Mark.”

Potter stared at him, and then lightning flashed in the sky, followed by a deep rumble.  In the next moment, it began to rain, and Draco hastily cast a series of drying, warming, and impervius charms on himself as Potter did the same.

“Are you sure?” Potter questioned.

“Yes,” Draco replied agitatedly. “Whatever Death Eaters survived the war were rounded up by the Ministry for the trials.  No one escaped judgment, but the Dark Lord had other, lesser followers who could still be out there.  There are plenty who still believe that muggles corrupt our way of life, even if they might not risk admitting it publicly.” 

Potter’s expression turned grim, but he didn’t say anything more as they reached Hagrid’s hut alongside the other Eighth Years.

“Alrigh’, Harry?” Hagrid greeted, before sending Draco a distrustful look.

Draco scowled but didn’t say anything.  The oaf most likely still blamed him for his scuffle with the Gryffindors outside of Hogsmeade, on top of everything else.  And really, he thought this course was a waste of time.  He’d learn more by studying in the library.  He wondered what the half-Giant would do if he knew just how close he and Potter had become.  He’d probably assume Draco had blackmailed Potter or put him under an Imperius.  As if he even could.

“Rumor at the Hogshead has it tha’ a Pogrebin has been loosed in the Forbidden Forest,” Hagrid boomed to the class.  “We’re goin’ ter capture it and return it to its owner.  All we need ter do is walk around a bit an’ it should come ter us.  Once it does, we can Stun it and bring it back.  We’ll split up in pairs so no one falls under its spell.  We don’ want anyone sinking ter their knees in despair, mind you.  Tha’s when the Pogrebin’ll attack.”

The Eighth years shifted and murmured uncomfortably, but Hagrid didn’t seem to notice their discomfort as he turned and walked toward the forest.  Draco stiffened as he stared at the looming silhouette of the dark trees with their twisted branches, the downpour only adding to the forbidding ambience.  He’d always hated the Forbidden Forest and it didn’t help that Hagrid consistently underestimated the danger in any situation involving magical creatures.  He didn’t doubt for a moment that the Pogrebin was probably a lot more hazardous than Hagrid let on. 

The class began to move and Potter bumped his shoulder again, watching him carefully.  Draco blew out a breath and marched ahead, swallowing his fear.  He just needed to get this over with.

They entered the forest, darkness practically consuming them until Draco could barely see ten feet in any direction.  Rain drops beat through the thick canopy above, barely touching the ground, but everything else went eerily silent.  Everyone lit their wands as they looked about and Draco followed, his hand shaking.  Potter gripped it for a moment and Draco glanced at his eyes as they lit up ethereally in the blue wand light. 

“Spread out,” Hagrid boomed up ahead.  “And stick close to yer partner.  If you find the Pogrebin, Stun it, and send up a signal.  If not, meet back here in an hour, an’ make sure to avoid the Centaurs.  They won’ want you sneakin’ round their territory.”

“And where’s that?” Finch-Fletchley questioned loudly, his voice shaking. 

Hagrid looked a bit startled as if he thought the answer was obvious.  Draco rolled his eyes.  As usual, the oaf was appallingly irresponsible with his students’ safety.  Hagrid turned toward them, shining his lamp light upon all of their no doubt petrified faces.  He frowned. “Well, you’ll know by the hoof tracks, see?”  He gestured toward the ground, but no tracks were in evidence. “If you see any, jus’ head in the opposite direction.”

Hagrid gazed at them all for a moment and then began to turn around again, but Turpin stopped him, her question tentative.  “But, Professor, how will we know how to get back?”

“Er…” Hagrid uttered stupidly.  It appeared as though he hadn’t even considered the issue.

The class murmured agitatedly amongst themselves.

“Two of us could stay here,” Granger suggested, her voice carrying over them all.  “We could send up a signal every two minutes, something that might light the way when others need to return.” 

“Yeah, tha’s good,” Hagrid muttered, sending Granger a grateful look.  “Who wants to volunteer?”

Almost everyone raised their hands and Hagrid stared back at them all in bemusement.  “Er…I s’pose I’ll have ter choose.” 

He studied them for a bit, before he pointed at Jones and Bones.  Draco supposed they must have looked particularly frightened.  “You two can wait here.  The rest of yeh, spread out and search.  We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“What does the Pogrebin look like, Sir?” Finch-Fletchley questioned.

“Er…righ’,” Hagrid replied, looking a bit sheepish.  “The Pogrebin is a demon, see?  With a hairy body and a large, gray head.  If it crouches, it looks like a rock.  So look for that.”

Most of the Eighth Years shared wary looks, and Draco felt particularly jilted.  Apparently, they were searching for a creature that disguised itself as a rock in a forest full of rocks, and just to make the task more pleasant, that creature not only had the power to make a person feel hopeless with despair, but it could also tear them limb from limb.  The oaf was practically leading them into a death trap.  Brilliant.

“Alright,” Hagrid stated.  “Spread out.  It shouldn’t be far.”

Lightning flashed in the sky, but the light barely reached the forest floor.  It was the subsequent rumble of thunder that vibrated beneath their feet and Draco trembled along with it.  The rest of the class slowly dispersed, disappearing into the darkness in opposite directions, except for Jones and Bones who lingered in the grove. 

Potter shared a look with Granger and Weasley.

“Stay safe,” Granger stated, appearing quite agitated herself.  “Honestly, I don’t know what Hagrid is – ”

“It’ll be fine,” Potter replied when she trailed off and looked a bit guilty for criticizing the half-Giant, although Potter’s grim expression belied his words.  “We probably won’t even find it.”

“Let’s hope not,” Weasley stated, shining his wand light on a large boulder and staring at it suspiciously.

“If we do, it shouldn’t be too hard to subdue,” Granger pointed out.  “It should be relatively small and the textbook says it’s quite weak against spells.  Just don’t let it ambush you and you’ll be all right.”

“Right,” Potter nodded then glanced at Draco.  Draco nodded back as steadily as he could.  Potter looked back at Weasley and Granger.  “We’ll see you in an hour.”

“Alright,” Granger agreed.

Weasley narrowed his eyes at Draco, but didn’t say anything.  Draco glared back, but his heart was already hammering in his chest.  This was the last place he wanted to be.

Potter turned and Draco reluctantly followed him into the underbrush, the darkness closing in around them as Granger and Weasley’s wand light faded into the distance.  The surrounding forest was eerily silent, but for the crackle of leaves and twigs under their feet.  Every once and a while, lightning flashed through the leaves and thunder rumbled moments later, but that was it.  The remaining silence was oppressive, practically pressing against his ear drums, and Draco couldn’t help the tenseness in his shoulders as he looked about.  They made their way deeper into the forest for what felt like hours, but it was probably only minutes.  His gaze would catch upon odd silhouettes shaped like claws or beasts with razor sharp teeth, but the moment he focused on them he realized they were just the twisted black branches of the trees.  He stared back behind them for minutes on end, but he couldn’t see the signal through the dense foliage.  So much for that plan.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Draco asked eventually, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Potter shook his head and looked back at him.  “Not exactly.”

Draco frowned, unable to help the jolt of fear that passed through him.  “Right.”

Potter slowed down and reached out for him, grabbing his free hand and squeezing it, before intertwining their fingers.  “It’ll be fine.”

“Of course it will,” Draco agreed a touch hysterically.  “The only thing we have to worry about is getting trampled by Centaurs or mauled by a boulder with teeth.  What could go wrong?”

Potter had the gall to snort in amusement.  “It could be worse.  We could stumble upon Aragog’s family.”

“What’s an Aragog?” Draco questioned.

“Hagrid’s pet Acromantula,” Potter replied.  “He escaped and had children here in the forest.”

Draco stopped and stared at him, Potter stopped as well and glanced back at him. 

“He’s insane,” Draco muttered faintly.  “The oaf is going to get us all killed.  He has no right being a professor.”

Potter sighed and squeezed his hand.  “We’ll be fine.  We’re nowhere near Aragog’s colony.” He paused, frowning when the sound of something skittering came from somewhere to their right.  “I think.”

Draco stiffened as they both stared blindly into the darkness, unable to see or hear anything else.  A sudden fear and sense of hopelessness stole over him, and he felt oddly drained.  “This is rubbish.  We have to go back.”

“It’s f –“

“If you say it’s fine one more time, Potter, I’m going to –“ Draco stopped when he heard something skittering closer.  “What’s that?”

Potter tensed and searched their surroundings with his wand light.  Draco did the same, holding his breath.  Some wind rustled through the leaves, but everything else went silent again.  Draco spot-lighted every rock he could see, wondering how he was supposed to know what was and wasn’t the Pogrebin. 

He didn’t see anything amiss, but he felt it, like a black hole of despair opening up inside him.  At first, he’d thought it was a natural reaction to this ridiculous situation, but the more intense the feeling grew, the more obvious it became that it was foreign in origin.

“Potter, do you…?” He questioned, his voice shaking.  He felt weak, and he struggled to stay on his feet as his knees nearly gave out.

Potter stumbled beside him, his grip loosening around his hand.  He swiveled about, lighting up a wide swath around them.  “Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Draco replied hoarsely, it was getting harder and harder to stay standing.  He felt hopeless, his entire body shaking with fear.  “There are rocks everywhere.”

“It should be close,” Potter gasped out, swaying and stumbling down to a knee.  Draco followed him, unable to keep standing as Potter’s hand slipped out of his.  “We just have to –“

Suddenly, there was a feral screech and Draco just managed to stare into Potter’s widening eyes, before something large, dark and heavy bowled into them from behind.  Draco’s mouth opened around a shout of alarm, but the breath was knocked out of him almost instantaneously and he flew through the air, before crashing against a tree trunk with a sickening crack. 

He shook his head, pain stabbing through his back, his eyes shut tight.  He could hear something growling and tearing through flesh.  It smelled like death.   

“Potter?” Panicked and gulping in shallow breaths, he opened his eyes to see Potter splayed out on the ground in front of him, something entirely too large and hulking leaning over him, it’s black claws pressing into Potter’s throat, its jaws pulling at something near Potter’s stomach.  Draco gasped, ill with terror as his gaze caught upon the dark pool of liquid spreading on the ground beneath Potter’s head.  “Potter!”

Potter didn’t move and neither did the beast.  Draco put his hand up, but his wand wasn’t there anymore.  He searched the ground around him frantically, not seeing it anywhere, but then he spotted it lying just beside Potter’s wand, lit in its wand light just on the other side of the Pogrebin’s back paw.  Draco struggled up, his limbs shaking, adrenaline rushing through his veins and providing him with strength he otherwise wouldn’t have.  All he could think was that Potter was in danger, and he had to save him, because no one else was going to and he couldn’t bear to think about the alternative.

He bit his lip and scrambled on all fours, pain shooting up his spine.  The Pogrebin growled warningly, its large boulder-like head swinging towards him, and Draco went still for a moment, locked in fear before it turned back to focus on its initial victim.  Draco could see the demon lowering its ugly, misshapen head for another bite and he desperately reached for his wand.  It snapped to his hand before he even touched it and he swung around, his heart hammering in his chest, his arm trembling, and he pointed his wand straight at the Pogrebin’s head, hoping to Circe Granger was right.

“Stupefy!”

The beast barely made a sound as the spell snapped its large head to the side and sent it flying in opposite direction until it hit a tree trunk with a thundering crash.  Draco stared at it wide-eyed, but it was out cold, and the overpowering sense of despair began to drain from his body.

Potter only lay there, unmoving, his limbs twisted disjointedly, and Draco’s heart jumped into his throat.  He hastily scrambled over to him and shined his wand light down on him, nearly retching at what he saw.  There was blood everywhere and the worst of it was centered around his chest, which was horrifically mangled. 

“Harry…”  Draco began to panic, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.  He didn’t know what to do.  He pushed his hands against the wound, trying to stopper the flow of blood, but it just bubbled up between his fingers.  He pulled off his robes and pressed the cloth over it, before pressing a hand to Potter’s jaw, fumbling for a pulse.  At first he couldn’t find it, but then he felt something incredibly weak, a sluggish beat beneath his fingers.  He let out a harsh breath.  “Harry, wake up, damn you!”

The blood soaked through the thick cloth of his robes in minutes and he started to hyperventilate.  “Don’t die, don’t die… _shit_ , you can’t die, you hear me?”

But Potter remained unresponsive, blood welling at the corners of his mouth and running down his jaw.  Draco’s vision blurred and he pointed his wand at him, casting a Rennervate.  Nothing happened.  His thoughts raced and he cursed himself for not learning the Episkey charm sooner, but instantly realized it wouldn’t be able to fix this.  His wound was too great.  He had to get him to the castle or St. Mungos, but they were stuck out here in the bowels of the forest, most likely lost, and he didn’t know how to get back.  No one would be able to see a wand signal through the thick forest.  He needed to contact someone, but he didn’t have any means to…

Suddenly, the green eyed wolf flashed through his mind’s eye, and he clung to his wand, struggling to push his panic away enough to think happy thoughts.  He cast the charm, but only a mist released from his wand before dissipating and he cursed, his cheeks wet.  Potter’s blood spread beneath Draco’s knees and soaked up through his trousers, and he bit his lip and closed his eyes, trying to think of something happy.  He remembered the night before, Potter telling him he loved him and he clung to that feeling, before casting again.  Something bright filled his vision through his eyelids and he opened his eyes, never so grateful as he was in that moment to look upon his Patronus as it stared back at him expectantly. 

“Find Granger,” Draco gasped. “Bring her here as fast as you can.  Hurry!”

The wolf howled silently and ran in the opposite direction, its light casting the twisted plants around it in sharp relief, before it disappeared completely. 

The moments that followed were agony.  All Draco could do was press his soaked robes against Potter’s wound and hold back choked sobs as Potter’s skin became paler and paler, the color literally bleeding out of him.  He was afraid to check for a pulse, so be abstained, but he couldn’t help pushing his wand hand through Potter’s bangs every once and a while, smearing blood across his forehead in the process.

“Draco?!  _Draco!_ ”

Draco’s head snapped around and he saw his Patronus leading Granger, Weasley, and Hagrid as they ran toward him.  He squinted when her wand light fell upon him, and her eyes widened as an expression of horror overtook her features.  “What happened?”

“The Pogrebin…it…” Draco gasped out roughly.  He was beginning to feel a bit numb, as if he was going into shock. 

Weasley stumbled forward and crouched down beside Draco, his expression the picture of shock and dismay as he looked down at upon Potter’s crumpled form.   “No…”  

Hagrid’s expression went from shocked to murderous as he stared from the fallen Pogrebin to Potter’s body, and he roughly pushed Draco aside as if he was nothing more than a ragdoll.  “Get away from him, Malfoy!”

“ _Hagrid!_ ” Granger admonished, but her voice was strained, clearly fighting back tears.

“I’ve never seen a Pogrebin tha’ size,” Hagrid continued gruffly as if he hadn’t even heard her.  “Wha’d you do, Malfoy?  Cast an Engorgio on it?”

Draco glared at him before scrambling back to Potter’s side and risking the half-giant’s wrath, pressing his robes back against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.  He burned to hex the oaf to oblivion for putting them in that situation in the first place, but he knew Potter didn’t have time for that.  He glanced at Granger desperately, his voice irreconcilably hoarse. “We have to get him to the castle.  If we don’t, he’ll – ”

“We need to get him to St. Mungo’s,” Weasley interjected, his face pale and his breathing ragged.  “Pomfrey can’t treat wounds like this.”

“Hagrid…. _please!_ ” Granger pleaded.  “We have to get Harry out of the forest, quickly.”

Hagrid nodded stiffly, his eyes conspicuously wet and he leaned down to scoop Potter up.  Draco couldn’t help clinging to Potter’s hand, his vision swimming as Potter’s blood ran down his fingers.  Hagrid sent him a murderous look.   “I’ll get him ter the castle.  McGonagall will be able to get him ter St. Mungo’s.” He glanced down at Granger and Weasley.  “You two gather the rest of the students and lead them out that way.” He pointed to this right, before gesturing toward Draco.  “Then take this one to Professor Proudfoot until McGonagall can see ter him.”

“I’m going with Potter,” Draco disagreed, glaring up at him. 

“No, yer not,” Hagrid stated angrily.  “This is the las’ time you’ll ever hurt Harry again.”

Draco saw red, but Granger pulled him back by the shoulder and he was forced to let go of Potter’s cold hand. 

“Just go, Hagrid!” Granger hastened desperately, and Hagrid nodded and left, practically running through the underbrush, carrying Potter’s limp body in his arms, until he was out of sight.   

Draco fell to the ground, his body shaking, and Granger crouched with him. 

“Damn him… _damn him_ …” Draco gasped incoherently, his fear for Potter’s life and anger at Hagrid pushing adrenaline through his veins until it was hard to take in proper breaths. 

“He’ll be alright,” Granger stated hoarsely, her body trembling.  “He’s been through worse.  McGonagall will be able to get him to St. Mungo’s in time.”

“He can’t die…” Draco repeated, through hitched breaths, trying to convince himself of that fact.  “He can’t die.”

“He won’t,” Weasley stated, and he crouched down as well, sliding his hand over Draco’s shoulder and resting it there.

Draco stiffened and glanced back at him, completely shocked as he took in Weasley’s solemn expression. Weasley stared back, his expression grim, but free of recrimination. 

“That was your Patronus, wasn’t it?” Weasley questioned roughly, his blue eyes piercing. 

Draco nodded, understanding dawning over him, and had it been any other time, maybe he would have felt horror or self-consciousness, but now he only felt numb and lost, his mind somewhere else entirely, his thoughts with Harry. 

“Okay,” Weasley stated simply, and he stood up, shaky on his feet.  “Let’s get the others, and get back to the castle.  I have to contact mum, and we’ll see if we can get to St. Mungo’s.”

“Alright,” Granger agreed shakily and Draco nodded, the energy draining out of him, his chest aching with every breath.

Granger had to help him up, but he pushed away from her once he was on his feet, standing on his own.  She obligingly stepped away from him and cast her Patronus.  Weasley followed, and they all watched them skitter out into the dark. 

The sky opened up and water trickled through the canopy.  Draco didn’t even bother casting protective charms, letting the cold liquid soak into his numb skin.  He stared at the pool of blood and the mountain of the Pogrebin’s stunned form, thinking only of Potter’s pale face.

No matter what Granger and Weasley said, Draco could feel their uncertainty and fear, and it was just as great as his own.  There was a very real chance that Potter might never wake up from this.  The thought scared him more than anything else to the point that he was almost paralyzed.

Potter was on the brink of death, and Draco couldn’t help wondering if he could have prevented it. 

And that thought was more painful than anything else.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens…   
> As always thank you for reading and all of your awesome comments. Until next time, then.


	19. Take it easy on me now

MacMillan and Goldstein were the first to arrive, stumbling through the underbrush behind Weasley’s terrier.  They were out of breath, both of their faces pale as they looked about.  Weasley and Granger stepped forward and MacMillan sent them both questioning looks.  Goldstein tensed when he locked gazes with Draco and looked him over.  Draco was sure he looked a mess, soaked in Potter’s blood, but he felt too detached to care what the others might think.  He only stared back at Goldstein restlessly.  The sooner he was able to leave this forest, the better.  

MacMillan pushed a hand through his hair, his eyes trailing over the ground, no doubt spotting the pools of blood that had yet to seep into the soil.  “What happened?”

“We’ll explain when everyone’s arrived,” Granger replied.  “We have to get everyone back to the castle.”

“Is that blood?” Goldstein pressed, a tremor in his voice.  “And why is Malfoy covered in it?”

Draco tensed, and Granger shook her head, appearing a bit overwhelmed, but Weasley spoke for her.  “We’ll tell you when everyone arrives.”

Goldstein and MacMillan stared at them, their expressions grim, but they didn’t say anything more. 

Weasley sent his terrier back out and Brown, the two Patils, Boot, and Corner arrived behind Granger’s otter moments later.  They were all out of breath and appeared quite wary even before they took in their surroundings.  Brown gasped when her eyes found Draco and Padma Patil opened her mouth to say something, but Weasley put up his hand. 

“We’ve got to get out of the forest.  We’ll explain everything once everyone gets here,” he repeated.

Brown nodded faintly, sharing a look with the Patils as they stepped further into the grove.  They all appeared horrified.  Boot and Corner frowned, muttering to each other.  Corner sent Draco a suspicious look and Boot nodded his head, but Draco only looked away, unmoved by their judgment.  They could think whatever they wanted.  It didn’t matter to him. 

They all stood in tense silence, thunder rumbling in the distance, and waited for the rest to come.  Slowly, new arrivals trickled in; Longbottom and Abbott, Turpin and Li, Bones and Jones, Smith and Finch-Fletchley – each appearing particularly bedraggled, each reacting in much the same way upon spotting Draco and the blood on the ground.  Weasley interrupted them every time.  All the while Draco itched to get moving, to see Harry again, to find out if he…

Draco’s vision blurred and he rubbed at his eyes.  He couldn’t think that way.  If he did, he’d go mad. 

Finnigan and Thomas were the last, and Finnigan, unsurprisingly, wasted no time in voicing his thoughts as he pushed his way through the crowd. 

“What is this?”  His eyes darted about, taking in all of their petrified expressions until his gaze settled upon the blood soaked into Draco’s clothes, encrusted over his hands and arms.  His eyes widened, and he glared at Draco accusingly. “What did you do, Malfoy?”

Draco narrowed his eyes, but didn’t have the strength to answer.  Nothing he said would make a difference to the tosspot anyway. 

“He didn’t do anything,” Weasley stated, taking a step forward and blocking Draco from Finnigan’s wrath.  He gestured toward the Stunned demon.  “It was the Pogrebin.  It attacked Harry and Malfoy.”

Some students gasped as they seemed to notice it for the first time, it’s massive, unmoving form making it look more like a rocky hill in the dark.

“That’s the Pogrebin?  But it’s so big!” Turpin stated with dismay.  “The text says they’re only supposed to be half the height of the average adult wizard.”

The rest of the students murmured anxiously and Finnigan sent Draco a suspicious look, but Granger shook her head.  “We don’t know why.  Hagrid was surprised as well.”

“He should have never made us come in here,” MacMillan complained, his eyes darting about nervously. “We ran into the Centaurs and one of them nearly ran Anthony through with an arrow.”

Goldstein nodded, rubbing his arm, and for the first time Draco noticed he was sporting a deep gash just above his elbow. 

“I could have sworn I saw a giant spider!” Brown piped up, appearing ill just at the thought of it.  “It was horrifying.” 

Many of the other Eighth Years’ eyes widened, and they looked about agitatedly as if expecting an Acromantula to drop down on top them at any moment. 

“Where’s Harry?” Longbottom questioned, wrapping an arm about Abbott’s shoulders as she shook at his side.  “Is he all right?”

“H-he’s fine.  Hagrid took him,” Granger explained, her voice remarkably calm.  “And he told us to lead everyone else out of the forest as well.”

“He left us alone in here?” Finch-Fletchley questioned incredulously.  “He couldn’t have waited for the rest of us?” 

The others frowned and appeared particularly dismayed.

Weasley and Granger shared a look, and Longbottom stared at them, his brows knitted.  He gestured toward the forest floor. 

“So, is this the Pogrebin’s blood, or…?” Longbottom asked, trailing off as he glanced between them.

Granger and Weasley stiffened.  Draco frowned, his chest aching, and Longbottom’s eyes widened.  Everyone else went perfectly still as the horrible truth of the situation sank in.

“It’s Harry’s?” Parvati Patil gasped, putting a hand up to her mouth in horror.    

“But…b-but there’s so much of it!” Brown stuttered, looking pale.    

Granger’s lips trembled and Weasley put an arm around her shoulders.  The others stared at them, completely shell-shocked.  Lightning flashed and the thunder followed.  Rain drops fell through the canopy once again.

“You said Harry was fine,” Thomas stated tremulously. “But how could he be if –?”

“We need to go,” Draco interrupted as steadily as he could.  He couldn’t just stand here anymore.  He couldn’t listen to this. His entire body started to tremble and he couldn’t make it stop.    

Everyone stared at him, their eyes glowing in the wand light.

“Why are you covered in Harry’s blood, Malfoy?” Finnigan questioned accusingly, pointing his wand at Draco as if he meant to hex him.  “That looks suspicious to me.”

Draco clenched his fists and glared at him, the utter _idiot_ , but Weasley raised his wand and pointed it at Finnigan.  “Back off, Seamus.”

Finnigan’s eyes widened and he frowned. “What are you going to do, Ron?  Hex me?”

“I’d rather not,” Weasley replied, his expression uncharacteristically hard.  “But I will if I have to.”

“What business do you have defending him?” Finnigan questioned. 

Weasley glanced back at Draco, and Draco tensed, but Weasley didn’t say anything.

Finnigan frowned and he shifted from one foot to the other, glancing back at the others before he looked at Weasley again.  “He was alone with Harry wasn’t he?  How do you know this wasn’t his plan from the start?”

Draco bristled, but Granger stepped foward.

“Oh, and he just conjured the Pogrebin out of thin air, did he?” Granger asked exasperatedly.  “If this was all a part of some plot Draco had planned, do you suppose Hagrid was working with him?  After all, he’s the one who sent us into this forest in the first place.”

“Malfoy could have Imperiused him,” Finnigan countered.  “It’s not as if he isn’t capable.”

The other Eighth Years shifted and murmured, glancing between Finnigan and Granger with tense expressions.

Granger stiffened and scoffed, but Weasley put a hand on her shoulder.  “Hermione…”

Granger shook her head, ignoring him. “You can’t honestly believe that!”

“I find it harder to believe that you two would defend him,” Finnigan stated, scowling.  “I don’t know what Malfoy’s done to gain Harry’s trust, but I thought at least you two would see sense!”

“You’re the one who needs to see sense,” Granger hissed.  “You’ve been so intent on persecuting him, you’ve missed the fact that he’s changed.  Harry trusts him now for a reason, why can’t you?”

 Finnigan scowled, but Thomas stepped up beside him, glancing at Granger before he put a hand on Finnigan’s shoulder.  “Seamus, just – ”

Finnigan shook him off and Thomas frowned at him, but Finnigan ignored him, narrowing his eyes at Granger.  “Was that supposed to prove anything?  Look what that trust got Harry.” 

Granger stiffened, and Draco raised his wand and stepped forward, trembling with rage.  “Finnigan, you complete – “

Finnigan made to hex him, but Weasley put out an arm and blocked Draco’s path.  “Don’t.” 

“Get out of my way, Weasley.”  Draco grunted with a glare, but Weasley just looked back at him from the corner of his eye and shook his head.

“We don’t have time for this,” Weasley muttered, looking back at Finnigan.  “We’ve got to get out of this forest and back to the castle.  McGonagall will sort out who’s to blame, but if you hex Malfoy now, I doubt she’ll be very sympathetic.” 

Finnigan frowned and glared at him for a long, tense moment, but then he lowered his wand and took a step back.  The other Eighth Years muttered agitatedly amongst themselves, some sending Draco speculative looks, while others frowned at Finnigan.  Granger glanced back at Weasley.  She still appeared a bit irritable, but was clearly grateful for his interference.            

Weasley turned around and looked at Draco, and for the first time, Draco saw the fear and concern for his best friend evident in his blue eyes.  Draco swallowed and stepped back, his rage at Finnigan seeping out of him.  His fear for Harry’s life bled back in, creating a lump in his throat.

“How do we get out?” Longbottom questioned into the tense silence.

“We know the way,” Weasley replied hoarsely.  Then he took a deep breath, and turned to face the group, gesturing toward the demon.  “We need to levitate the Pogrebin out with us.  Who can help?”

No one answered for a long moment, but then Longbottom stepped forward and Weasley nodded gratefully.  Thomas followed, taking out his wand.

“Okay, that should be enough,” Weasley stated.  “We’ll cast the charm and levitate it to Hagrid’s hut.”  He pointed in the direction Hagrid had exited the grove.  “You lot, just follow Hermione to the castle.” He glanced at Granger.  “We’ll catch up with you.”

Granger nodded stiffly, and the group moved to follow her.  Draco stepped up beside her.  Finnigan lingered near the back of the group, which Draco was grateful for.  He didn’t want to deal with him anymore.  The git could rot for all he cared.  

Granger glanced at Draco, her expression pinched as she looked him over.  Then she waved her wand and Draco felt the harsh friction of a Scourgify rubbing across his skin.  He looked down at his hands and forearms, the blood gone, and he realized he could have cleaned it away himself earlier, but it hadn’t even occurred to him.  He supposed he must have been in shock.  He nodded to Granger, but she looked away, staring forward, and for the first time Draco noticed her eyes were wet with unshed tears. 

His eyes immediately stung and he shook his head.  He was being stupid.  Harry was going to be fine.  He had to be.  It would be ridiculous for him to die like this, after everything he’d survived.  It didn’t matter how much blood he had lost or how pale he had looked by the time Hagrid had carried him away.  He was going to live. 

The forest seemed to last an eternity, the darkness unrelenting as they stepped past twisted trees.  They all walked closely together in tense silence, the blue light from their wands the only thing brightening the area around them.  Draco had the horrific thought that they might never find a way out, but then he spotted a pinprick of light through the trees ahead and he quickened his pace.  Granger followed, the others not far behind. 

A moment later, he and Granger broke through the tree line and stepped out into the open.  Wind buffeted him back and he had to squint against the brightness of the sky, even though storm clouds still roiled menacingly above.  He’d almost forgotten it was still the afternoon, and the realization was disconcerting.  Something flashed and he had to close his eyes, but when he opened them again, thunder didn’t follow and he stared around, but there was nothing there.  Then the others stumbled out behind them, squinting and bedraggled.  He was sure they looked a sorry lot, he the worst of all with his clothing still caked in blood.

“Thank Merlin…” Corner uttered breathlessly, and some others sighed in relief.

Granger only shared a look with Draco, worry and fatigue clear in her eyes.  He was sure she could see the same in his.  He began to trudge toward the castle beside Granger, fighting the wet wind as trepidation grew inside him with every step.  The grounds appeared deserted, but then he spotted someone running toward them, and he and Granger stopped.  As the figure got closer, he recognized it as Proudfoot, her Auror robes flapping impressively behind her.  Her expression turned dour when she eyed them all.    

She skidded to a halt in front of them and Granger stepped forward.  “Have you seen Harry, Professor?”

Proudfoot frowned.  “Aye, I was with the Headmistress when Hagrid arrived with him.  Hagrid told me to retrieve you lot.” 

“Was he…how did Harry look?”  Draco questioned, before he could stop himself.

Her eyes narrowed, but she shook her head.  “I can’t say.  The Headmistress has taken him to St. Mungo’s.  Is anyone hurt?”

Silence greeted her, but then Brown spoke up.  “Anthony got shot in the arm by an arrow.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Goldstein murmured self-consciously. 

Proudfoot raised an eyebrow and looked Goldstein over, but she seemed satisfied he wasn’t in mortal danger and her gaze swept over the entire group until she caught on Draco again. 

“Is any of that yours, Malfoy?”  She questioned, eyeing his clothes. 

Draco frowned and shook his head. 

“It’s Harry’s, Professor,” Finnigan pointed out.  “Malfoy was alone with him in the forest.”

Draco stiffened and scowled as some of the others murmured awkwardly behind him, but Proudfoot merely raised an eyebrow.  “I’ll make a note of that, Finnigan, thank you.”

She eyed the rest of them, raising her voice over the wind when it picked up.  “Some of you are missing.  Where are Thomas, Longbottom, and Weasley?”

“They’re just behind us,” Granger replied, gesturing back toward the woods. “Levitating the Stunned Pogrebin out to Hagrid’s hut.” 

Proudfoot’s lips thinned.  “I want you lot to go to the Infirmary and have Madame Pomfrey look you over.  I’ll go into the forest and make sure more blood isn’t spilled.  You two,” she pointed at Draco and Granger.  “Wait for me in the Hospital Wing.  I want a full account, and I suspect the Headmistress will want to speak with you before the day is out.”

“I’m fine.  I’d rather go to St. Mungo’s,” Draco stated.

“The Headmistress wants you here,” Proudfoot replied tersely.  “Go to the Hospital Wing.”

Draco stared at her, wanting to argue, but her expression was unyielding.   He nodded reluctantly and she turned away.  She swept past them, and Draco watched her until she disappeared into the tree line, the unnatural darkness of the forest swallowing her up.  

Draco glanced at Granger, his heart in his throat, and she bit her lip.  They started walking toward the castle again, his agitation growing with every step.  When they entered the entrance hall, it was empty.  Draco realized the lower years must have been in their last class of the day.

“So are we going to miss History of Magic?” Jones asked quietly as they trudged up a moving staircase.

“I think we already are,” Bones replied.

“I doubt Binns will even notice,” Corner speculated.

“Good point,” Bones agreed.

Draco tuned them out, barely able to concentrate as it was. 

There were already two other lower year students, a boy who looked to be a victim of a hex gone wrong and a girl who had what appeared to be long strings of pasta for hair, sitting in beds in the Infirmary.  They stared at Draco and the rest of them curiously when they entered, and Pomfrey emerged from her back office, looking startled.  “What’s all this then?”

“Professor Proudfoot sent us here,” Parvati Patil stated breathlessly. 

“What happened?” Pomfrey pressed as she looked them over, her eyes caught upon Draco’s clothing and widened.  “Have you been wounded, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head, keeping his voice as steady as he could.  “It’s not from me.”

“We were in the Forbidden Forest, hunting a Pogrebin for Hagrid,” Granger explained.  “And it attacked Harry.”

Draco could see the lower year students just past Pomfrey’s shoulder, stiffening and widening their eyes at the news.

Pomfrey frowned, clearly dismayed.  “And where is he?”

“Hagrid took him to Professor McGonagall,” Granger replied weakly.  “She’s…taken him to St. Mungo’s.”

Pomfrey appeared horrified.  “Oh dear.  Honestly, that Hagrid…that was highly irresponsible.”

Granger didn’t look at her, clearly uncomfortable, and Draco was too angry to say anything.  If he offered his honest opinion, she’d probably have to detain him for foul language. 

“Right,” Pomfrey nodded resolutely, collecting herself, before she surveyed them all.  “I want you lot to take a seat.  I’ll need to look you over and assess the damage. And Mr. Malfoy, take off your soiled shirt.”

The Eighth Years dispersed obediently, taking seats on the remaining beds and chairs.  Finnigan sent Draco a dark look when he passed, but Draco ignored him.  He moved to unbutton his shirt, but his hands were shaking so much it was nearly impossible.  Granger noticed and pushed his hands away, undoing the buttons herself.  At any other time, Draco would have protested, but he lacked the conviction now that he felt the world was closing in around him. 

When she was done, he pulled his shirt off and followed her to the last empty bed in a shadowy back corner of the room.  They sat beside each other in silence, watching Pomfrey bustle about as she inspected each student one by one.  Draco was both restless and exhausted as the clouds slowly broke apart through the high windows, allowing the light of the setting sun to peek through and wash the Infirmary in an orange glow.  He tapped his foot against the stone, thinking of Harry and what must be happening to him. 

When Pomfrey reached them, she didn’t say anything, but he could see the concern in her eyes as she waved her wand over him.  The other Eighth Years slowly trickled out of the Infirmary once she gave them a clean bill of health.  By the time all of them left, Draco had nearly lost patience, and he had half a mind to bugger Proudfoot’s orders and apparate to St. Mungo’s on his own, but then Proudfoot finally pushed her way in through the double doors, Weasley, Thomas, and Longbottom in tow. 

“…need to Owl my mum,” Weasley was in the middle of telling her.

“I’m sure the Headmistress has made all the proper arrangements,” Proudfoot replied, appearing harassed as they approached Draco and Granger.  They gathered around their bed and then Pomfrey emerged from her store cupboard where she had been stocking potions.  Proudfoot nodded to her. “Poppy.”

Pomfrey nodded back faintly, before her gaze fell to Weasley, Thomas, and Longbottom.  “I suppose I’ll have to look you lot over as well.”

“Look at Weasley first,” Proudfoot stated.  “I need to take him to the Headmistress’s office.”

Pomfrey pursed her lips, and nodded.  “Right.”  She pulled out her wand and waved it in front of Weasley, emitting puffs of multi-colored smoke from the tip, before she shined some light into his eyes.  He winced and blinked when she was done, his eyes watery. 

“Do you have any pain anywhere?” She asked as he rubbed at them. 

“My eyes hurt a bit,” Weasley complained.

She sent him a dry look.  “I see you are not without your usual wit, Mr. Weasley.  I suppose I can rule out brain damage.”  She turned to Proudfoot.  “He’s all yours.”

Weasley frowned, but Pomfrey ignored him and addressed Longbottom and Thomas.  “Come along then.  Sit down on these beds over here. I’ll check you over and then you can leave.” 

Longbottom and Thomas reluctantly made their way to the beds, and she turned back to Draco, eyeing his bare chest.  “Let me get you a spare shirt before you leave, Mr. Malfoy.  Don’t want you walking about the school half-naked.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Proudfoot stated, and Pomfrey bustled off. 

“Is McGonagall back yet?” Weasley questioned as he took a seat beside Granger and put an arm around her shoulders.

Proudfoot crossed her arms.  “I wouldn’t know.  She instructed me to bring you all to her office to meet her upon her return.  I suppose she thought you might try to take matters into your own hands and travel to St. Mungo’s without escort.”

Draco could feel Granger stiffening beside him, and he clenched his scarred hand.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Draco questioned impatiently.  “We’re of age now, and Harry’s – ”

“There is nothing you could do for him that isn’t already being done,” Proudfoot informed him tersely. “Your presence at St. Mungo’s would make little difference, and even then, it is questionable whether they would even grant you access to Potter, given who you are.”

“Who I am?” Draco bristled.

“You’re not next-of-kin,” Proudfoot clarified. 

“But Harry has no next-of-kin,” Granger stated.  “He only has us and the Weasleys.”

“Granted,” Proudfoot allowed.  “The Ministry is quite aware of Potter’s familial status, and even though he is of age, they consider the Weasleys unofficial guardians.” She glanced at Weasley, one brow raised.  “I assume your parents will be contacted in that capacity through the necessary channels.  Until then, the Headmistress will act as temporary guardian while the Healers at St. Mungo’s work.

“Potter is a special case,” she continued.  “And I assume the Minister for Magic will be made aware of the situation before long, if he hasn’t been contacted already.  St. Mungo’s will be swarming with Aurors tasked with protecting him.”

“Protecting him?” Weasley asked bemusedly. “From what?”

Proudfoot frowned, and sent him a disbelieving look.  “You of all people should know the answer to that question.  From everyone.  The public, the press, well-wishers, and ill-wishers.  Once news of this leaks out, and it will, mind, the entire Wizarding world will be paying attention.”

Weasley frowned and Draco stiffened in alarm, realizing she was right.  Potter’s life was at stake and the moment that broke to the masses, St. Mungo’s would need to be heavily guarded indeed.  

“I assume that if you two did attempt to visit him,” Proudfoot continued, gesturing between Weasley and Granger. “You would meet with little resistance.  Malfoy, however.”

Draco scowled, but he knew she was right.  The Aurors would probably detain him the moment he entered the waiting room, just because they could.

“That is assuming, of course, that Potter survives,” Proudfoot added quietly.

Draco tensed further and he could hear Granger suck in a breath beside him.  A hollow chasm grew within his chest, and he glared at Proudfoot for even speaking that possibility out loud, but she just stared back at him squarely, unmoved.     

“At least here you can explain what happened and lay down the facts,” Proudfoot continued.  “I hope it isn’t surprising to you that your situation is quite tenuous, Malfoy.  Hagrid seemed particularly upset.  Apparently, he blames you for what has befallen Potter, but I reckon you’re already aware of that.”

Draco scowled.  “He’s the one to blame, not me.  If he hadn’t –“

“Save it for the Headmistress,” Proudfoot interrupted.  “She’s the one you’ll have to convince.”

Pomfrey interrupted the tense silence that followed when she bustled back into the room from her store cupboard, carrying a folded green shirt. 

“There you are, Mr. Malfoy.”  She handed it to Draco, and he took it. He finally ripped his gaze away from Proudfoot and stiffly pulled the shirt over his head. 

“Let’s go,” Proudfoot beckoned once he was properly clothed.  She promptly turned back toward the double doors. 

When they entered McGonagall’s office it was empty, but Draco could feel the portraits of the former Hogwarts Headmasters and mistresses watching him from their frames.  He avoided looking at them, especially the one just behind McGongall’s desk.  Proudfoot conjured some  wooden chairs as bare as the ones in her office, and he, Granger, and Weasley took a seat. 

“It’s almost dinner,” Proudfoot observed as she stepped up to one of the windows and stared out at the darkening grounds beyond.  “I’ll have the elves bring you all some food.  The Headmistress shouldn’t be long.”

She strode out of the room and Draco, Granger, and Weasley were left alone with the portraits. 

“So this is the one that half-breed was bleating on about.  He doesn’t look capable of murdering a Niffler, much less the _Boy-Who-Lived_.”  The last was said in a scornful tone as if the speaker couldn’t quite take that title seriously.

Granger and Weasley stared up at the portrait and Draco tensed, finally looking up to see a particularly severe looking wizard frowning down at him from his within his golden frame.

“Now, now Phineas,” another portrait of an ancient wizard chided.  His gold placard read, ‘Armando Dippet’.  “That language is quite unnecessary.”

“Surely it isn’t a crime to speak the truth,” Phineas sneered.

Draco glared at him, and then chastised himself for letting a portrait get to him in the first place. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Granger advised under her breath as the old Headmasters squabbled amongst themselves.  “He’s always been a piece of work.”

“You’re familiar with him?” Draco questioned with a raised brow.

“He shares a portrait in Grimmauld Place,” Weasley replied bitterly as he eyed Phineas Nigellus Black with a wary look.  He glanced back at Draco and noticed his confusion.  “It’s the house Sirius left to Harry, and the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“I suppose it was your great aunt’s house, on your mother’s side, of course,” Granger added thoughtfully.  “You’ve never heard of it?”

Draco shook his head, a bit shocked.  “My mother barely spoke of the Blacks, and my father said it was because her sister was a blood-traitor, leading to her parents’ untimely death.  He insisted that was what had killed my maternal great aunt as well, and my mother was only too happy to renounce them.  The only one she considered worthy was Aunt Bellatrix.”

Weasley frowned.  “That’s mad.  Sirius, Regulus, and Andromeda were the only sane ones in that entire family and your mother went off and married a Malfoy.  She’s a right terrible judge of character, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask,” Draco replied coldly. 

“Your great aunt has a portrait at Grimmauld Place, too,” Weasley continued stubbornly.  “Completely mental, that one.  She’d lined the walls with the heads of her dead house Elves, and it was impossible to shut her up.  She wouldn’t stop screaming.”

“Are you sure that’s not just because she saw your pockmarked face?” Draco sneered.

Weasley scowled, and Granger sighed exasperatedly.  “Honestly, I thought you two had moved past all this!”

Draco and Weasley stared at her incredulously, and she put up her hands in defeat.  “Of course you haven’t.  What am I thinking?  But the least you could do is control yourselves when there are more important things to worry about.”

She glanced between them and Weasley took in a long breath before letting it out, the tension going out of his shoulders.  Draco deflated, realizing that it was stupid to argue with Weasley when Harry was at St. Mungo’s fighting for his life.  At least, he hoped he was fighting.  Draco frowned and clenched his scarred hand, remembering Harry sliding his thumb down the center of it, and watching him with green eyes that glowed in the blue flame light.  That had only been two nights ago, but it already felt like it had been a lifetime since then.    

“So now the house belongs to Harry?” Draco heard himself ask into the silence.

Weasley nodded.

Granger gazed back at Draco thoughtfully.  “It’s a bit odd now that I think on it.  After all, if things had gone differently, the property could have easily been passed on to you.”

“I reckon Harry would have preferred that,” Weasley muttered.  “He’s always hated that place.  Especially since Sirius…”

He trailed off and Granger nodded, her expression haunted.

They all went silent again, until suddenly, Nibby popped into existence between them, levitating three large platters of food.  The smell of roast beef filled the room and Draco’s leaden stomach revolted.  He couldn’t think of eating right now.  He couldn’t look at the food when it was placed in front of him, and he accidentally looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait instead.  At first, he panicked, but then he realized the man was actually sleeping or at least feigning it, slumped back in his plush chintz chair.  Draco quickly looked away to see Weasley picking at the food on his plate, and Nibby staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Master is not hungry?” she squeaked.

“Not at the moment,” Draco conceded, sharing a look with Granger.

“I’ll make sure he eats it,” Granger promised the elf before Nibby could properly nag him. 

Draco would have found some exasperated amusement at the gall of the house elf at any other time, but at the moment he just wanted to be left alone. 

Nibby nodded slowly.  “Master is not eating enough,” she told Granger.  “You is being very good to watch him.”

“Thank you,” Granger replied with a small smile.

Nibby nodded again and then she disapparated. 

Granger gazed at him.  “She’s quite fond of you.”

“She fancies herself my mother,” Draco muttered.  “This is what I get for being nice to House Elves.”

“Oi, House Elves can come in handy,” Weasley argued.  “They saved our ar –“

“Alright, Hagrid, here’s a tissue,” someone, clearly McGonagall, interrupted from the Headmistress’s quarters to their left and Draco stiffened. 

She received what sounded like an Erumpant blowing its nose in reply. 

“There now, come in and sit down,” McGonagall instructed.

Draco, Granger, and Weasley stared until McGonagall entered the office, followed by a bawling Hagrid.  Hagrid sent Draco a dark look with blood-shot eyes, but McGonagall merely nodded to them, appearing highly harassed.  Her hair was unusually unkempt and her robes were wrinkled. She had dark circles under her eyes, but they weren’t red-rimmed and swollen like the oaf’s behind her.   

“What happened?” Draco questioned, staring at Hagrid’s splotchy cheeks and thinking the worst.  “Is Harry –?”

McGonagall put up a quelling hand and swished her wand toward a corner of the room, transfiguring a small table into a giant plush chair.  “Sit, Hagrid.  There’s no need for all these theatrics.”

“A-aye, Professor,” Hagrid blubbered wetly, before sitting down with a loud thunk and blowing his nose again. 

McGonagall sat primly in her own chair on the other side of the desk and put a hand to her temple for a moment, before she eyed Draco, Granger, and Weasley.  She sighed and glanced down at their barely touched platters.  “Are you finished with those?”

They nodded and she Vanished the food with a flick of her wand.   

“Professor, what – ?” Granger began over the sound of Hagrid sniffling loudly, but McGonagall interrupted her. 

“This calls for tea, I think,” she stated, and then she conjured some cups and a steaming kettle.  The moment her cup was filled, she tipped it back and drank it like a shot of Firewhiskey.  Draco didn’t even touch his and neither did Granger and Weasley as they watched her anxiously.  She put the cup down with a clink and sat forward to gaze at them all, her expression grim.  Draco’s heart beat sped up in his chest.  “Mr. Potter is in stable, but critical condition.  The Healers tell me it will take a considerable amount of recovery time, and that he has so far been unresponsive to stimuli.”

Granger gasped.  “H-He’s comatose?”

McGonagall nodded.  “I’m afraid so, Ms. Granger.  The wounds to his chest were healed, but the blow he took from the Pogrebin caused a certain level of head trauma, and we can’t know if he’ll wake up until the swelling goes down.  Right now, he is being kept in stasis, allowing his body to heal with the aid of spellwork.”

“Aren’t there spells to reduce swelling?” Weasley questioned, his voice conspicuously thick. 

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall agreed.  “But it is inadvisable to rapidly reduce swelling near the brain, or so the Healers have told me.  They have taken steps to do it slowly and carefully.  It will take time.”

Draco saw Weasley place his hand on Granger’s from the corner of his eye, and he longed for Harry, which only made the situation that much more frustrating.  

“Who’s there with him now?” Granger asked.

“Arthur Weasley,” McGonagall replied, glancing at Weasley.  “Your mother will be joining him soon.  I suspect she’ll be there most often while your father works.  There are also Aurors and the usual Healing staff.  He’ll never want for company.”

“When can we see him?” Draco questioned, his voice weaker than he’d like.

“Yeh’ll stay away from him, Malfoy,” Hagrid threatened hoarsely.

Draco stiffened and scowled back at him.  Granger put a hand on his shoulder as if afraid he might get up and attack the oaf, which he very well might. 

McGonagall sent Hagrid a sharp look.  “That’s quite enough, Hagrid.  I remind you that you were the one who sent your students into the Forbidden Forest unsupervised, which is highly inadvisable.  I am hard-pressed to lay some of the blame on you.”

Hagrid hiccoughed wetly and shook in his chair.  “I understand, Professor…but the Pogrebin’s s’posed to be half a wizard’s height.  This one was at leas’ three times tha’ size.  Malfoy must’ve cast an Engorgio, or –”

“I didn’t do anything, you blithering oaf!” Draco denied heatedly.  “The first time I saw the Pogrebin was only after it collided into us and…and…then the moment I could see anything, it was on top of Harry…and…”

Draco’s eyes stung and he wiped at them angrily, cursing himself for becoming emotional and stuttering like an idiot. Hagrid stared at him, wide-eyed, and he could feel McGonagall’s eyes on him as the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. 

“Had you seen this Pogrebin before you went to search for it, Hagrid?” McGonagall questioned after a moment.  “How do you know it hadn’t had an Engorgio cast on it before it had entered the Forest?”

Hagrid looked away, shame-faced, and blew his nose again.  “I don’.”

“Hagrid,” Granger spoke up.  “Who told you about their Pogrebin going missing?”

“It’s hard ter say,” Hagrid replied wetly.  “It was in the Hog’s Head, see?  He wore a hood an’ I couldn’ see his face.”

Granger sighed, and Weasley muttered, “This is just like Norbert all over again.”

Draco glared at the oaf, his vision blurring around the edges. “You have no business being professor.  Harry nearly died due to your incompetence.”

Hagrid stiffened, but he didn’t say anything.

“That is quite enough, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall admonished sharply.  “I understand that this is a difficult time, but what’s done is done, and we will have to deal with what follows to the best of our ability.  Mr. Potter is alive, and our duty now is to see that he recovers.”

“It’s alright, Professor,” Hagrid murmured and stood, swaying on his feet like a drunken man.  “I quit.”

“Hagrid…” McGonagall stated, her voice wavering slightly, but the half-giant just shook his head and pushed his way through the door, before disappearing down the spiral staircase. 

Draco wanted to feel triumph in that moment, but all he felt was sick.  He knew Harry wouldn’t want this, and no matter how much he blamed Hagrid for what happened, he couldn’t help the guilt that coiled in his gut.  He would never forgive the oaf, but he knew Harry loved him like family.  Draco turned around and sat back in his chair, covering his eyes with the back of his hand. 

McGonagall sighed.  “It has been a long day.  I suggest you all retire to your tower.  I will keep you abreast if any new information surfaces with regards to Mr. Potter’s status.”

“We’d like to visit him,” Granger pressed quietly. 

McGonagall stared at her, clearly weighing the pros and cons of her request.

“It will be arranged,” she conceded.  “I’ll contact Arthur to set up a time.  Until then, I expect you to carry on with your schooling.  Mr. Potter is in very capable hands, I assure you, and as you very well know, he’s a survivor.  This will not get the best of him.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, and hoped she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned for a lot more to happen in this chapter, but then it got too long and I had to cut it off again…so sorry for the semi-cliffhangery feeling this chapter might leave you with.
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for reading and your comments. I'm constantly overwhelmed by your feedback.


	20. Well, their games are driving you up a wall

All he did was howl, his paws digging into the soft powder as he ran across the tundra, but no one replied.  The wind only carried an echo, his own mournful cry calling back to him, mocking him.  He was utterly alone, the scent of his mate lost to him.  He ran for what seemed an eternity, snowflakes getting into his eyes and obscuring his vision.  Eventually, he slowed to a trot, his breathing labored, his tongue lulling out of his mouth.  Wind picked up and spiraled a flurry of snow around him, rustling his thick winter fur. 

He sat on his haunches and howled again, his heart aching, and then he heard it, the piercing whistle of a train.

Draco woke up, breathing harshly and staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster, the sound of the whistle echoing in his ears.  He turned his head and squinted in the dark to see that his bed curtains were rustling as if by a breeze, and tensed.  He’d never seen the tower windows open. He sat up and pulled at the curtain, revealing the rest of the room.  It was dark, lit only by moonlight, and utterly silent. 

A jolt of anxiety raced up his spine and goose pimples followed, rising across his skin. He got up and looked around, his footsteps muffled on the carpet. The dormitory appeared largely vacant, the unoccupied beds perfectly pressed as if no one had ever slept in them at all.  All of the four-posters in the dorm were open, except one.  He stepped toward the middle of the room, looking about, noting the closed windows and stale air.  Nothing moved, save the curtains of the four-poster he faced, which was ominous. 

Of course, it was Harry’s bed, he realized, his heart leaping into his throat.  He swallowed and stepped toward it, stopping just before he reached the billowing bed curtains.  After a moment of indecision, he raised his hand, his fingers trembling against the soft rippling cloth.  Abruptly, the cloth went still and he twitched in fear, pulling away for a moment.  His first instinct was to step away, but he didn’t.  He couldn’t.  He had to know. 

He licked his lips, tensing for what he might find when he pulled the curtains open and looked down, but it didn’t lessen the impact of the sight.  Harry lay there bloody, the crimson liquid soaking into the sheets and bubbling out of his mouth, out of the gaping wound in his chest.  Draco stumbled back, choking on hitched breaths, wishing he’d left the curtains closed after all.  It was too real, too close to a memory.  He gave in to his weakness then, falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the floor, his mouth opening around a silent sob.

When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry, the brightness of morning sunlight stinging his retinas. This wasn’t another nightmare.  He could hear the others moving about and he wiped at his face, finding it wet.  He brought his forearm up to rest over his eyes and tried to keep his breath from hitching.  It took him a while to calm down, staring blankly at the darkness behind his eyelids.  The dream he’d had melded together with his memories until it was hard to discern where one ended and the other began, but he remembered Harry’s blood soaking into the dark soil of the forest floor, and he supposed that was enough.      

When he finally pushed open the curtains and slid out of bed, he spotted Weasley getting dressed, poking his ginger head through the neck hole of a wrinkled Canons t-shirt, before he caught Draco’s eye with a tired stare.  He looked almost as wrecked as Draco felt, and Draco nodded shortly before standing up.  Weasley merely grunted and turned to sort out his robes.  Most of the others were already gone, save for Longbottom and Corner who lingered, putting on their shoes.  Corner sent Draco a distrustful look, but didn’t say anything, and Longbottom nodded, looking rough around the edges.  Draco ignored them both, trudging to the bathroom, his eyes catching on Harry’s empty four-poster and trying to dispel the mental image of Harry bleeding out all over the sheets. 

It was no use.  The grisly scene stuck with him even as he closed his lids, the hot water from the shower head pounding down upon his skin in a staccato rhythm loud enough to drown out the beating of his own heart.  He dug his fingertips into the grout of the tile and angrily choked back the thing threatening to close off his throat, pretending the shower water was the only thing running down his face and stinging his eyes.  He nearly convinced himself of that, until he stepped out and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his eyes rimmed red and puffy.  He pulled his wand out of the pocket of his robe, the one he hadn’t bothered to hang up before he’d stepped into the stall, and waved the wand over his face.  He watched dispassionately as the redness faded and his face cooled until it was pale once again.  He’d become quite skilled at that after months living in close quarters with mad men in his own home.  He’d had quite enough practice hiding the reddened tracks of his tears.    

He dried himself and stepped into his pants and trousers, buttoning up one of the many gray shirts he owned without really paying attention to what he was doing.  His mind was far away, stuck between the tundra that was never cold and the empty dorm room where the curtains billowed in a phantom breeze. 

He sighed and stared back at himself in the mirror.  He looked tired, but that couldn’t be helped.  He was tired, and he didn’t have the energy to attempt a glamor.  He pushed a hand through his wet hair and then dried it with a flick, watching absently as it fell into place, the strands pleasingly tousled.  If he squinted, he could almost believe today would be a normal day, unremarkable at worst, but his eyes looked haunted and nothing he did could get rid of it.  Harry was somewhere deep within St. Mungo’s stuck in limbo and wondering whether or not he should board a train.  Somehow, Draco knew that to his very core, and it was unsettling, not least because he knew there was nothing he could do about it.  Not here, and not even there, by his side.  Harry was lost to him, and he was left howling for him in the dark.

Weasley and Granger were waiting for him in the common room, their heads close and speaking lowly to each other before they noticed his approach and got up to greet him.  Granger pushed a hand through her bushy hair and shouldered her large book bag.  She looked a bit pale and there were bags under eyes, but Draco didn’t comment.  He was sure they all looked a mess.

“Ron’s mum should be sending word on the situation at St. Mungo’s,” she informed him, glancing at Weasley.  “I suppose McGonagall’s spoken to her by now, so our visitation schedule should be arranged.”

“Today?” Draco asked monotonously, but he felt both apprehensive and hopeful.

“Maybe,” Granger replied, but she appeared doubtful as she shared a look with Weasley.  “It could be this weekend though.”

“I doubt McGonagall would approve of us skiving off lessons,” Weasley muttered.  “Not even with Harry in the state he’s in.”

Granger nodded, looking somber, and Draco had to reluctantly agree.  He doubted McGonagall, or any other official, would see the merit in visitation while Harry was unconscious.

It started to rain outside as they made their way down the stairs, thunder rumbling in the distance.  The halls were dark and empty, as most students were already in the Great Hall for breakfast.  The Fat Friar emerged from a wall and crossed their path.  Draco nearly stepped through him, then glared at the ghost for his negligence.  The Friar didn’t even spare him a glance as he disappeared into the opposite wall, and Draco was left feeling slightly more irritable than he had upon waking. 

Weasley caught his eye and shook his head in commiseration.  “Hufflepuffs, hey?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“They’re always so oblivious,” Weasley complained, nearly knocking over two first year girls who had strayed into his path.

“Indeed,” Draco remarked dryly and Granger caught his eye then, shaking her bushy head in exasperation as her boyfriend stumbled to a halt and stayed behind to help one of the more irritated girls repack her things.

They walked on, but Weasley caught up to them just as they were about to enter the Great Hall. 

“Bloody hell.  Firsties these days,” Weasley muttered irritably.  “Need to watch where they’re going.  No respect.”

Granger let out a short breath, but didn’t comment.  It was clear she was too fatigued to argue the point and even Weasley’s complaint had been lackluster at best.  Draco could tell he was just going through the motions.  That was his function, after all.  That was the support he provided.  Draco never thought he’d appreciate it, but he did at the moment, and that was disconcerting.   

The Great Hall was full and lively in comparison to the silence in the rest of the castle.  The floating candles were bright against the roiling clouds in the ceiling and the students were conversing raucously over their breakfasts as if nothing was amiss.  Clearly, they remained blissfully unaware of their Savior’s plight, which, Draco realized with dread, couldn’t last long.  Draco looked up to see the owls ominously swirling in through the windows and circling the rafters, searching for their masters.  The Daily Prophet was clutched in the claws of a fair few of their number, and Draco’s stomach clenched at the sight. 

He followed Weasley and Granger, who had both tensed as well when they noticed the owls descending, to the table.  One bird landed and then another.  It was only a short moment before shocked silence followed in their wake, students leaning over to get a better look at the parcels.  Draco had just reached his seat, his muscles tightening, as eyes about the room turned toward him, their shocked and accusing gazes prickling his skin.  Finnigan looked up from his own copy of the Prophet and stared at him with an unmistakable glint of triumph.  The other Eighth Years were watching him now, their expressions inscrutable, but he could feel the glares from about the room burning into his back with growing intensity. 

Granger sighed from her seat across the table and stared down at her own copy the moment a school owl dropped it upon her plate.  She picked it up, her expression grim.  When she looked up at Draco, a thousand emotions were hiding behind her gaze, and she offered it to him.  Draco took it just as an owl deposited a Prophet at Weasley’s place, and his lips tightened into a frown as he took in the cover.  Granger leaned over to read Weasley’s copy, her eyebrows knitted.  Draco swallowed, but made sure his expression was carefully blank as he held the paper with trembling fingers, trying to ignore the attention he was getting as he looked down at the cover for the first time himself. 

He found himself staring back up from a photograph on the front page, his form bloody and bedraggled as he exited the Forbidden Forest.  Draco clenched his jaw, his eyes widening in realization.  He remembered the random flash of light that had nearly blinded him just as he’d escaped the tree line the day before.  Someone had taken his picture in that moment, and here it was, for all the wizarding world to see, just beneath the bold-lettered headline, ‘ **Harry Potter Attacked in Death-Eater Plot?** ’

Draco ground his teeth and skimmed over the article, picking out passages that struck him.

_Only months after defeating Voldemort in the Final Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter has been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries where he is currently in critical condition.  The Ministry and St. Mungo’s staff have been tight-lipped on the circumstances, but a Prophet reporter was there on the scene at Hogwarts, where Mr. Potter is enrolled for his eighth year of study, and witnessed the events unfolding just after the incident occurred.  This reporter witnessed the groundskeeper carrying Mr.Potter’s bleeding form out of the Forbidden Forest, and shortly thereafter, former-Death Eater and Eighth Year school mate Draco Malfoy [see photograph above] emerging from the tree line…_

“That photo’s been tampered with,” Granger muttered bitterly.  “I exited the forest at the same time as you, just beside you.  They’ve purposely removed me and everyone else.”

Draco grit his teeth, hardly surprised.  This had Skeeter’s magical signature all over it and he knew as well as anyone how fond she was of bending the truth for a story.  Apparently, with Harry becoming untouchable in his Savior status, Draco had become an easy target.

_…Here we see Mr. Malfoy covered in, what we can only assume, is Mr. Potter’s blood, stumbling out of the Forbidden Forest, his eyes crazed, his expression tinged with –_

“Vindictive triumph?” Weasley uttered with a scowl.  “That’s a bit of a stretch, even for her.”

Draco read further along, unable to keep his hands from shaking as they clutched at the pages.

_…The Headmistress at Hogwarts has refused comment, but this reporter wonders why Mr. Malfoy has not been detained nor questioned by proper authorities as both his background and the circumstances of the incident make him highly suspect.  One can only wonder if galleons have changed hands for Mr. Malfoy’s continued protection from the law…_

_…All parties have been unnervingly silent on the matter, but Alisandra Boustridge, mother of two and top editor for the Harry Potter section in Witch Weekly has been quite vocal in her condemnation of the Ministry’s lackluster performance._

_“I am highly disturbed by Draco Malfoy’s continued attendance at Hogwarts, where many of our children are boarding, especially given his unsavory history and involvement in this latest incident.  He should have never been allowed near Harry Potter after the war, and quite frankly, it’s a disgrace he has not been locked up alongside his father in Azkaban, where he quite clearly belongs.  I know many mothers who were quite disturbed when they had been informed, not by the Hogwarts administration but by their own children, that Draco Malfoy was attending the school alongside them this term.  I can only hope that the Ministry take seriously the threat he and all other Death Eaters pose to our society so that this never happens again.”_

_In fact, not only has Mr. Malfoy been in attendance at Hogwarts, but multiple students at the school have attested to seeing Mr. Malfoy spending an inordinate amount of time with Mr. Potter, perhaps in an underhanded attempt to gain his trust._

_“They’re in the same House now,” a Seventh year Gryffindor, who has chosen to remain anonymous for fear of retribution by Malfoy, informed this reporter.  “My mates and I saw them walking the halls together near the beginning of term.  Sitting together in the Great Hall even, but we all knew Malfoy was up to something.  It’s well known throughout Hogwarts that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter hated each other before the war ended, and I don’t see that changing without Dark Arts being involved.”_

_We all remember Mr. Malfoy’s hand in opening Hogwarts to the Death Eaters, eventually leading to Albus Dumbledore’s death, and his role in torturing Voldemort’s prisoners of war in the dungeons of his own home.  Whether or not one agrees with his exoneration by the Wizengamot during the Death-Eater trials, some had believed he could be reformed.  Most disturbing, however, is Mr. Malfoy’s continued misconduct after the war as an Eighth Year student.  As his own House mates attest, Mr. Malfoy has been volatile and a danger to his peers on numerous occasions, including and perhaps especially, toward Mr. Potter._

_“Malfoy and Harry had a row once, right outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom,” Eighth Year student and war hero, Seamus Finnigan, reports. “Harry was trying to help Malfoy, but Malfoy got angry, and when they were paired to duel during the lesson, Malfoy nearly burned Harry alive, and the rest of us along with him.  If you ask me, he should’ve been expelled for that.  Harry had to go to the Infirmary, but nothing happened.  Malfoy wasn’t even dropped from the course.  Harry didn’t even seem to blame him, which was odd.  It’s like Malfoy had him under some sort of curse.”_

_The rules of Hogwarts are well known to all those who have graced its halls throughout the years, and in most cases, these rules are absolute.  Students cannot harm other students without incurring punishment, but Mr. Malfoy managed to attack Mr. Potter with a deadly spell, causing injury great enough to warrant a stay in the infirmary, and yet he received no punishment whatsoever._

Draco scoffed at that.  He’d been given weekly detentions  with Proudfoot and even McGonagall had had to be talked down from expelling him outright by Granger. 

_Why wasn’t Mr. Malfoy punished, you may ask?  And how had Mr. Malfoy managed to remain close with Mr. Potter even after the incident?  It was this lack of common-sense judgment by both Potter and the Hogwarts Professors who are charged with his care and safety that had disturbed Mr. Potter’s peers even then._

_“I knew something was wrong when Harry broke up with Ginny [Weasley],” an anonymous Seventh Year Gryffindor informed this reporter.  “They were in love.  Anyone could see it, but then he just ended it, just like that.  And with Malfoy always around...it has to be something he’s done.  He was waiting to get Harry alone so he could do him in.  I know it.”_

“How would any other student already know about the attack in the Forbidden Forest?” Weasley muttered as he read along.  “It had just happened yesterday.”

“We weren’t the only ones there,” Granger replied bitterly.  “The information could have gotten out…or Skeeter could have pulled the quote out of thin air. Either is possible.”

Draco scowled, knowing she was right.  That woman wasn’t above concocting her own facts to push her agenda.

 _Is this a desperate attempt by a former Death Eater to avenge his Master’s death?  Has Mr. Malfoy been friendly with Mr. Potter in hopes that he might catch him unawares and finally succeed where his Master could not?  There has not been a formal inquiry into the matter, nor has evidence been put forward to the Wizengamot, but this reporter would argue that all available signs clearly point in the affirmative.  In this time when Death Eater attacks are on the rise across Great Britain, and the Savior of the Wizarding World is on the brink of death, can we afford to let Draco Malfoy continue to walk free?_  

Draco stopped reading, incensed.  He bit the inside of his cheek as murmurs filled the hall all around him. He shook the paper open, his ire rising, but his gaze caught upon another photo, just beneath the fold, and he stopped.  Draco recognized the photo from one of the innumerable press junkets Harry had attended the summer previous.  There Harry was, staring up at him, and looking uncomfortable as he always did in photos.  His emerald eyes darted to the side, indicating how dearly he wished to escape the frame, but someone’s arm was wrapped around him, possibly the Minister for Magic’s, rendering him immobile at his side. 

Draco stared at Harry’s photograph, at a loss.  He sank into his seat, the rage draining out of him.  He stared unblinkingly, forgetting he wasn’t alone for a moment, until something wet and sticky hit him in the back of the head.  He stiffened and looked up at Granger when she sucked in a breath, her eyes flashing as she honed in on someone behind him.  Draco just caught Weasley’s grim expression and Longbottom’s anxious look, before someone cried out from behind him, their hoarse voice echoing across the stone walls of the Hall.

“Go to Azkaban, Death Eater scum!”

Others roared in approval, hands thumping wood, rolling a beat like the thunder outside before something else, soft and sticky, hit Draco on the side of the face.  He didn’t dare look back at them.  He didn’t even get up or move to remove the wet substance now sliding down his jaw and into his shirt collar.  He could see the Eighth Years watching him, their expressions varied from distrustful to concerned, but none of them made a sound, not even Finnigan and Smith.  It was as if they were waiting to see what he would do in retaliation before they reacted.  They had been there, after all.  In the Forbidden Forest.  Some of them should have been in the photo on the cover, emerging from the foliage behind Draco, their expressions exhausted and relieved.  Draco was the only one covered in blood, his expression caught between fatigue and irritation as the flash made him flinch.  It made him look angry, his eyes flashing dangerously in that moment just before the others had joined him, right before Granger had emerged weary and unnerved at his side.  The effect of erasing the others in the photograph was as damning as it was designed to be.  He looked alone, enraged, and covered in blood.  No casual observer would assume him innocent. 

The angry shouting in the Great Hall grew to a crescendo.  He could even hear some witches sobbing, overcome with emotion.  The only corner of the Hall devoid of outrage seemed to be where Draco knew the Slytherin table to be positioned.  They remained eerily silent – an island in a sea of chaos.  Granger looked beside herself, pulling her wand out, but obviously uncertain what to do with it.  She couldn’t very well attack three quarters of the student body at Hogwarts, after all.  Weasley put an arm around her shoulders and sent Draco a look.  All of this happened in mere moments, although it felt longer to Draco, before he felt yet another wet slap of something, porridge perhaps, splash across his back. 

He gritted his teeth, thinking to get up and leave, but then everything went absolutely silent.  Draco looked up and noticed everyone at the Eighth Year table stiffening, probably mirrored by those in the rest of the Hall.  Longbottom opened his mouth as if attempting to speak but no sound came out.  Draco found his own vocal chords unable to carry so much as a hum.  He followed Longbottom’s wide-eyed gaze to McGonagall, who was perched at the Head Table, flanked by the other professors, and watching them all disapprovingly, her lips set into a thin line. 

She stood slowly, her expression dangerous, and surveyed the Great Hall, before tapping her throat with the tip of her wand.  “That is quite enough!”

Her voice rang out loud and clear, commanding in the tense silence.  It was the only sound penetrating the air apart from the rustling of students’ robes as they fidgeted in their seats. 

“I realize that the news is upsetting, but this undignified outburst will not be tolerated,” she stated, her voice harsh.  “Nor will bullying a fellow student, no matter the circumstances.  If you take issue with a peer’s conduct then you will let me or the other professors know.  You will not take matters into your own hands.” 

She paused, surveying them pointedly.  “I can assure you, I am well aware of the situation and have been since the incident occurred, and I have made all the necessary enquiries.  After careful consideration and investigation of the facts, I have found Mr. Malfoy innocent of any wrongdoing, despite what the Daily Prophet might insinuate.  I trust you will all respect my judgment over the incendiary accusations of a biased Prophet reporter.” 

The students grew restless, but her disapproving gaze sharpened and they went still again.

“And if you cannot trust me, then trust that the Ministry is doing all it can to investigate the matter, and  any conclusions they may come to will occur in due time after careful review of the facts. 

“I am also aware of Mr. Potter’s current status, and he is being well taken care of at St. Mungo’s, I can assure you.  Right now, our top priority is Mr. Potter’s health and well-being.  So please refrain from attempting to provide assistance.  Your aid, however well-meaning, is not required, and any action to exact vengeance will not be rewarded, but punished promptly and severely.”  She waved her wand and the unnatural silence receded, punctuated by gasps as the students regained their voices.  McGonagall cut them off before they could actually speak.  “Am I quite clear?”

Draco didn’t turn about in his seat to look, but he could hear many in the hall murmuring and fidgeting restlessly in their seats.

“I said is that clear?” McGonagall repeated sharply.

“Yes, Professor,” many students agreed dispiritedly and the sound echoed across the hall. 

“Very well,” she stated, her lips thin as she regarded them all.  “If this behavior persists, I will be forced to expel the perpetrators.  There will be no tolerance for bullying at this school, and especially not in this case.”

Draco stared down at the Prophet splayed over his plate unseeingly as McGonagall continued to survey the silent hall.  He knew this wouldn’t be enough to deter those who might seek retribution, and he’d have to be on his guard from now on.  At least, even more so than he had been already. 

“You may resume your meals,” she finally instructed after the long, uncomfortable silence and she sat back down, immediately cutting into her sausage with a particularly vicious swipe of her butter knife. 

Slowly, the silence in the Great Hall abated as cutlery slid across plates and students began to talk, but Draco could feel the glares burning into his back all the same.  The other eighth years followed suit, but they were subdued and they avoided looking at Draco entirely.  Granger waved her wand with a muttered scourgify and Draco felt the wet goop splashed across his cheek and back vanish.  He nodded to her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she took her Prophet back and stuffed it into her bag with a look of disgust.

“McGonagall certainly isn’t pleased,” Weasley murmured, glancing at the woman in question. “I haven’t seen her that enraged since she chased Snape out of Hogwarts.”

“I should think not,” Granger snapped, but her anger obviously wasn’t directed at him as she poured pumpkin juice into her goblet so fast it sloshed over the edges.  “Skeeter practically accused her of taking bribes to let a murderer walk free.”

“How does that woman still have a job?” Weasley wondered bitterly.  “Why did we fight a war if we couldn’t put people like her in their place?”

Granger sent him a look, but her lips twitched tellingly.  “I still have her jar. Just in case.”

Weasley actually grinned.  “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Draco poured some coffee into his goblet, trying not to shake too much.  He was so angry, he thought he might burst with it, but under that, he was anxious, and it was a horrible combination that seemed to twist in his gut.  He could barely stand to witness Granger and Weasley’s domestic chatter when he saw Harry bloody and broken every time he closed his eyes.  He was only too glad that Granger had retrieved her copy of the Prophet because if he’d had that in his line of sight, he’d probably do something drastic, like burn it and the table down along with it.

He caught Longbottom staring at him from across the table and Longbottom bit his lip sheepishly.  “I know this might not mean much to you…but I don’t believe a word of it.”

Draco stared at him, but he didn’t say anything.  He merely nodded, not certain how to respond to such a blatant show of support.    

Longbottom put an arm around Abbott’s shoulders and she glanced at Draco too, a tentative smile pulling at her lips for a moment.  She nodded too.

Draco didn’t think it would, but it did help somewhat.  His shoulders unwound enough that he could suddenly breathe fully – something he hadn’t even been aware he’d been unable to do until that point.  Although, the entire display also made him a bit uncomfortable. 

“Eventually, everyone will know this article is a sack of lies,” Granger agreed, and her eyes gleamed with determination.

“Mum won’t be pleased,” Weasley muttered, stabbing at his eggs with a grim frown.

“Surely, she’ll know it’s complete rubbish,” Granger stated.  “She knows who Skeeter is.”

“She also knows the Malfoys,” Weasley replied, gaze flickering toward Draco for a moment before he looked back down at his plate.  “And I’m not sure…with everything that’s happened…”

He left it unsaid, but Draco understood it well enough.  His brother had been killed by Death Eaters and his mother was in mourning.  And now Harry, someone who by all accounts she considered an adopted son, was in St. Mungo’s.  If anyone should be hard to convince of Draco’s innocence, she would be.

Granger visibly paled, but her stubborn expression remained fixed.  “We’ll have to reason with her.  She has to know that Draco isn’t to blame.  Harry wouldn’t want her to think otherwise.”

“I know,” Weasley sighed.  “I reckon it’s going to be rough though.  You know my mum.  She’s fierce when she gets protective.”

They ate in silence after that, but Draco could barely stomach the food he shoved in his mouth as hateful glares from all sides prickled at his skin.  He was all too glad when Granger stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, stating quite loudly that she could use some air.  Draco and Weasley took that as an invitation and they followed her out, ignoring the eyes that tracked them from all corners of the Hall. 

The moment they exited the Hall, however, Ginny Weasley blocked their path, her expression unreadable. 

“Ginny –“ Weasley frowned.

“Tell me what really happened,” she interrupted, standing her ground, fire and something else swirling in her eyes. 

“I don’t – “ Weasley began, appearing shifty.

“I’ve got an Owl from mum,” she pressed.

As usual, she didn’t even spare a glance for Draco, as if she refused to acknowledge his existence.  Granger and Weasley shared a look, and Granger sighed.  “There’s an abandoned classroom on the third floor.”

The Weaslette nodded and waited for them to move.  Draco stiffened for a moment, feet planted in indecision, before he decided to take his leave, but Granger grasped his wrist and sent him a look.  “You too, Draco.  You were there. You can tell it better than us.”

Draco frowned, but she merely stared at him, and he couldn’t help but relent.  He didn’t fancy telling the Weaslette anything, but he also wanted to know what her mother had said in her Owl.  Any information about Harry’s current status would be welcome.  The Weaslette was frowning at him now, her brows knitted as if looking at him caused her actual pain, but he ignored her and nodded to Granger instead.  At least she wasn’t openly hostile and loudly accusing him of murder.  He had half expected her to do so, but he recognized that was based on assumptions he’d built up on her character that had never had much basis in fact.  He barely knew her – had barely cared to know her until recently – and even then his interest had been focused upon what she’d meant to Harry, not on who she was as a person. 

She seemed calm though – tense, but calm – as they all walked up the moving staircases to the abandoned classroom.  She looked calmer than Draco felt, at any rate, but the moment they entered the room, she looked about and perched herself on a desk, crossing her arms defensively as she sent her brother a significant look.

Draco leaned back against the wall closest to the door once it closed shut behind Granger with a soft click, projecting a nonchalance he didn’t feel.  

“What’d mum say?” Weasley questioned, stepping into a shaft of sunlight that had only just broken through the gray clouds outside and regarding his sister warily. 

“Tell me what happened first,” the Weaslette insisted. 

“Why?” Weasley asked, and Granger sent him a look as the Weaslette scowled.

“I care about him as much as you do, Ron!” she replied exasperatedly.  “And I know that article was a load of bollocks.  So just tell me what’s going on.  Mum seems to be under the impression that I know what happened and I don’t, of course. So just –“

She cut herself off, appearing frustrated as she frowned at the window for a moment, her voice going quiet.  “I need to know he isn’t in danger.”

She glanced at Draco with a significant look, and Granger took that opportunity to step in.  “Draco had nothing to do with it.”

The Weaslette merely stared at her for a moment, but surprisingly Draco couldn’t discern any disbelief in her expression.  She looked tired and wary, more than a bit frustrated.  Draco could see how concerned she was and it hit him all at once.  The realization that she loved Harry.  She truly loved him, even now.  Draco felt it like a punch to the gut. 

“Hagrid sent us into the Forbidden Forest to look for a Pogrebin,” Granger stated, and continued at the Weaslette’s questioning look.  “It’s a hairy demon with a head like a rock.  It hides until it can corner unsuspecting victims, and it can make anyone feel intense fear and hopelessness if it’s close enough.”

The Weaslette frowned.  “That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” Weasley agreed, but Granger shook her head.

“It usually isn’t,” she disagreed.  “It’s usually small and easily dealt with, but this one wasn’t.  It attacked Harry and Draco when they were alone, and…” she paused and swallowed.  “Harry didn’t fare well.  Draco sent a Patronus to alert us and Hagrid took Harry to the castle where McGonagall took him on to St. Mungo’s.”

“Why was Malfoy covered in blood?” the Weaslette asked, eyes flicking toward Draco for a moment before looking away.

“He’d been attempting to staunch the bleeding,” Granger replied.  “He had been doing so until we got there.”

“And you don’t think he did this?” she questioned, looking at her brother now.  “Even you, Ron?”

Draco clenched his fists, but he bit his tongue.  It wouldn’t do to show his anger now.  He realized he needed the Weaslette to believe he was innocent, however unlikely that might be, if he ever wanted a chance to visit Harry, and that was motivation enough to control himself.  He remained silent, because he didn’t think he’d manage to remain charitable if he spoke.

Weasley shifted his weight from one foot to another, sparing a glance at Draco, and shook his head.  “He didn’t do it.”

Draco felt something foreign and warm stir in his gut at that.  He would never get used to Weasley defending him.

“How are you so sure?” the Weaslette pressed.  “You were the one who’d whinged to me earlier in the term about Malfoy being a danger to Harry.  What changed?”

Weasley looked about shiftily, and Draco tensed, but Weasley didn’t reveal anything.  “I’ve just changed my mind.  I was wrong.”

The Weaslette narrowed her eyes, and her jaw clenched imperceptibly.  “That’s hardly an answer.  I don’t see how you can suddenly trust him…after everything he’s done.  That article was a load of bollocks, but it wasn’t all complete tripe.  The things Malfoy has done.  That was true.  He’d nearly burned Harry alive just as Seamus had said.  You’d said yourself that Malfoy had probably done it on purpose.  And Harry had just…” she shook her head.  “I thought he was getting better, but last week, he was so angry.  He wouldn’t even speak to any of us.  What could Malfoy have possibly done since then to gain your trust?”

Weasley sighed, clearly at a loss.  Granger stared at Draco imploringly, and Draco shook his head, but she frowned and he looked away, biting his lip.  She couldn’t possibly want him to…but she did.  Of course she did, and even Draco knew, in the end, it was the only way.  Now, if the Weaslette would believe what he had to say, that was another matter entirely. 

Draco licked his lips and reluctantly spoke for the first time.  “Weasley saw my Patronus.”

“What?” the Weaslette whipped her head around to stare at him bemusedly, her expression tense.  It was the first time she had truly looked at him since they’d entered the room, her stare guarded. 

“His Patronus,” Weasley continued for him, sending him a cautious look and Draco just nodded, giving him his permission to continue.  “It’s the same as Harry’s.”

“What does that…?” the Weaslette trailed off, glancing between her brother and Draco as what they’d said seemed to slowly sink in.  Her eyes widened and she jumped off of her perch as if she’d been stung.  “You can’t mean…”

Draco looked away, pushing his clenched fists into his pockets.  Neither Weasley nor Granger said anything.

Draco glanced at the Weaslette for a moment to find her paler than before, staring at her brother as if not really seeing him, her gaze inward.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered incredulously into the silence.  Weasley opened his mouth, but she did it first.  “You can’t seriously think that that means anything.  It could be a trick…or a coincidence.”

Draco ground his teeth and sent her a sharp look.  “It’s not.”

She simply stared at him, hurt, anger, and disbelief warring in her eyes, her mouth pulling down into an incredulous scowl.  “How should I believe you?”

Draco let out a short breath through his nose and leveled her with a careless look in hopes that it would mask his agitation.  “I wouldn’t expect you to.  I don’t care if you believe me, in any case.  What matters is that Harry does.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Weasley broke into the tense silence that followed, looking down at his shoes as he scuffed them over the floor uncomfortably.  “His Patronus wasn’t the only thing that tipped me off.  I’d suspected it for a while, Ginny.  Ever since they became friends, Harry had been coming back.”

The Weaslette swallowed, her expression frozen.

“He did it for you?” the Weaslette stated breathlessly as she eyed Draco again, her expression a mixture of disbelieving and pained.  “He broke it off with me for _you_?”

Draco didn’t say anything, but that appeared to be answer enough for her.  She looked away out the window, her brows knitting in consternation.  Granger and Weasley glanced uncomfortably between the Weaslette and Draco, but he strove to keep his features carefully blank. 

The Weaslette let out a sudden, short bark of a laugh, but it sounded a bit wobbly.  She still wasn’t looking at any of them, but he could tell she wasn’t crying.  Her one visible cheek was dry and her posture was stiff as though she was holding her emotions in.  Draco couldn’t help remembering what Harry had said about that.  He’d liked that about her.  Even now, Draco could admire her for it.  He’d rather not see her break down in front of him.  That would have been uncomfortable.  She was stronger than he’d suspected.

“Mum still thinks we’re together,” she spoke in a remarkably even voice, still staring out the window, her shadowed form rimmed in sunlight.  “That’s why she Owled me first.  She asked when I’d like to visit him in St. Mungo’s…and I hadn’t even known he was there until I saw the Prophet this morning.  All this time he’s been so distant, and I’ve just –“

She cut herself off and no one else spoke.  Draco watched her carefully as Weasley and Granger shared a look. 

“Ginny,” Granger finally spoke, her voice soft.

The Weaslette just shook her head, and pulled her gaze away from the window to send Granger a look.  Granger closed her mouth. 

The Weaslette put a hand into one of her robe pockets and dug around a bit, pulling out an envelope.  She held it out for her brother to take, and he reached for it questioningly.

“You should Owl her back,” was all she said, and then she left the room without sparing a glance at any of them.   

Weasley’s shoulders slumped the moment the door clicked closed behind her and they all stared at each other.  The sun passed behind another cloud and it began to rain outside again, droplets beating against the window panes.  They didn’t say anything as Granger made her way out and Weasley and Draco followed.  There wasn’t much to say, and Draco preferred to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself, jumbled as they were. 

All he could think was that Harry would have been upset by her reaction, not for himself but for her.  And no matter how much Draco thought he shouldn’t be able to understand that, he could.  He understood how she felt and he’d like to think that he would have reacted to the news as admirably as she had, but he suspected that was a lie, which really got to the root of it.  She was stronger than him, better than him, and it was a realization that felt exactly like cold icicles piercing into his gut.     

The halls were crowded as students made their way to their lessons.  Draco and Granger left Weasley near the foot of the Owlery tower and they went on to Arithmancy.  They were silent as they traversed the halls, ignoring the hateful and distrustful looks thrown their way, mostly meant for Draco, of course.  Draco half expected jinxes to be cast, but there was nothing, and they reached the Arithmancy class room unscathed.

He and Granger were one of the last to arrive and they took their seats amidst their classmates’ glares and hushed mutterings.  Granger ignored it all with grace, pulling her text book out and arranging her ink pot just so upon her desk.  Draco followed her lead, avoiding everyone’s eyes.  It was tense until Professor Vector arrived and called their attention to the board.  Draco settled in for a long lecture, hardly equipped to take any of it in as his mind raced in what seemed a thousand directions. 

Half-an-hour in, the door creaked open and Professor Vector stopped, raising an enquiring eyebrow.  “Yes?”

“We would like to question one of your students, Ma’am.”

Draco tensed in his seat and noted two men standing in the door frame, clad in Auror robes.

“And who, may I ask, is requesting this?” Professor Vector questioned, her brows rising severely, clearly rattled by their interruption.

“Auror Jonathon Savage, ma’am,” the older of the two replied gravely.  “And this is my partner Auror Williamson.  We’ve been sent by the Ministry.”

“This cannot wait until after the lesson?” Professor Vector uttered with a tight frown.

“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” Savage replied gruffly. 

Both Aurors sent Draco a significant look and Draco stiffened, every eye in the room was on him again, including Professor Vector’s.

“Very well,” she relented, but sounded less than pleased about it.  “Have him back as promptly as you can.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Savage agreed and then he pinned Draco with an expectant stare.  “Come along, Mr. Malfoy.  Up you get.”

The bottom dropped out of Draco’s stomach and he thought he might be sick. 

Granger grabbed his wrist as if to stop him from getting up.  She fixed her gaze on the two Aurors, before looking back at Draco, her expression concerned.  She spoke as lowly as she could.  “Keep your answers short and to the point, even if they give you Veritaserum. But remember, you’re innocent.  You haven’t done anything to warrant an arrest.”

Draco nodded shakily and she finally released him, the sweat from her palm cooling on his skin.  He got up and kept his expression blank.

“Leave your wand,” Savage instructed just as Draco moved to pick it up from his desk, and Draco paused for a moment before obeying.  He supposed it was better than having them confiscate it. 

The two Aurors, who were both broader and taller than him, stepped out of the way as he approached and they followed him out into the hall, flanking him on either side.  Draco grit his teeth and started walking, their hard gazes burning into his back.  The halls were silent but for the rain beating against the windows and the sound of the Aurors’ heavy footfalls behind him.  

Draco bit his lip, summoning all of his courage – what little he could manage – and tried to convince himself that this wasn’t his last trip through these halls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for that cliff-hanger. I truly am. But it was either that or not update for a while, and I decided you would all rather get something than nothing at all for another eon. And it’s not like you all aren’t used to these by now, hey? Yeah… DX
> 
> Thanks for reading. ;)


	21. And They're Wearing You Like a Crown

He refused to ask where they wanted him to go even though they had effectively forced him to take the lead.  The Aurors didn’t offer their opinion, either.  They were just watching him as he walked, their gazes burning into the back of his neck.  It was like they were testing him, and he didn’t know the correct answer, but he refused to break or let it slip that he was in any way unsettled.  He simply put one foot in front of the other, heading toward the Entrance Hall. He was certain this was a tactic of theirs, something they did to make their suspects squirm so that by the time they actually questioned them, they’d be ready and willing to say anything.  The thought of it set him on edge.  He would not be intimidated, and he wouldn’t do anything to incriminate himself. 

He broke off that line of thought when he caught sight of the Entrance Hall and noticed a familiar figure standing silhouetted at the foot of the stairs, watching them approach.  He could practically feel the Aurors tense behind him.

“Gwen,” the older Auror, Savage, greeted gruffly.

Proudfoot raised an eyebrow at him and pushed herself away from the stairs, meeting them in the middle of the hall.  The two Aurors fanned out to stand on either side of Draco.  He looked down and noticed the younger Auror, Williamson, clenching his hands into nervous fists.  She was barely of a height with his chin, but that was obviously no barrier to intimidation. 

“Savage,” she stated drily, sending him a pointed look, before she turned an expectant gaze on Williamson.

“A-Auror Rowan Williamson, ma’am,” he stuttered.

She eyed him critically, before switching her electric blue gaze to Savage.  “I see the new recruits are a bit twitchy this year.”

Williamson stiffened and Savage laughed.  “Give the lad time, Gwen.  It’s his first week.”

“I seem to have left the ranks just in time,” Proudfoot observed. 

“Quite right.  Aren’t you a professor, Auror Proudfoot?” Savage questioned, clearly making an effort to sound casual, but the small line of tension in his voice undermined that.  “Why aren’t you in a classroom with your students?”

Draco glanced over at him, frowning.  Savage looked older and more grizzled than both Williamson and Proudfoot combined, but he seemed ill at ease in her presence as if she held all the authority. 

“Fortunately, I have a free period now,” she smiled, but it was menacing, like a cat playing with its prey before it pounced.  “The Headmistress assumed you would follow standard protocol and greet her in her office the moment she allowed you within the gates.”

The two Aurors shifted restlessly as she eyed them.

“We were on our way, ma’am,” Williamson blurted anxiously.

“Right,” Savage agreed.  “Just took a bit of a detour, hey?”

He clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder and Draco winced, but Savage squeezed the flesh with his large fingers as if in warning before finally letting go.

Proudfoot looked unimpressed, and her gaze flitted over to Draco, before she returned to staring up at Savage with a distinctly flat expression.  “Of course.  If you come with me now, I’m certain any unintended offense will be forgotten.”

The two Aurors shifted and shared a look.

“I trust you have nowhere else to be,” Proudfoot prodded pointedly.

“Right you are,” Savage stated weakly.

“Of course,” Williamson agreed with just as little enthusiasm, but he was staring at Proudfoot with something akin to awe, color splotching high across his cheeks. 

Draco cringed inwardly.  The new recruit looked to be half Proudfoot’s age.  Not that she looked old, but Williamson looked practically pre-pubescent with his smooth jaw and big amber eyes.  If he wasn’t so tall, Draco would mistake him for a Fourth Year at most.

The moment they rose up the spiral staircase and spilled into the Headmistress’s office, McGonagall looked up from a parchment she was scribbling on with a large Phoenix feather quill and regarded them all.  “I see you’ve managed to make it to my office in one piece.  I was beginning to worry you’d gotten lost.”

“Apologies, Headmistress,” Savage stated, standing stiffly beside Draco.  “We thought we’d take care of our business on the way.  More efficient, you see.”

“Right, how good of you,” McGonagall replied, but it hardly seemed she actually thought so when she sent them both the same flat look Proudfoot had earlier.  “Auror…?

“Jonathon Savage, ma’am,” he greeted, before gesturing to his charge.  “And this is Auror Rowan Williamson.”

McGonagall nodded to them both before nodding to Draco.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Professor,” Draco muttered, his throat dry.

McGonagall glanced over at Proudfoot, who was hovering just behind them.  “Thank you, Gwendolen.”

Proudfoot merely moved to lean back against the wall to their left, crossing her arms and watching them all like a sentry. 

“And what business do you have with Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall questioned, sitting straight up in her chair and regarding the two Aurors. 

“Just a few questions, ma’am,” Savage replied, his large hand falling back over Draco’s shoulder.  Thankfully, he didn’t squeeze this time.  “He’s a key witness in the Potter case.”

“He isn’t a suspect then?” McGonagall asked.

Savage and Williamson shared a look.

“Not as of now, ma’am,” Savage replied diplomatically, but the implication was clear.  They were hoping to prove his guilt.

McGonagall stared at him for a long moment, before she sat back in her chair.  “Very well, then you may question him here.”

“We wouldn’t want to impose –“ Savage started, but McGonagall cut him off.

“It is no imposition, of course.  In fact, I’d quite like to observe.”

“I’m not certain…that is to say…” Savage spluttered, his eyes darting between McGonagall and Proudfoot. 

Proudfoot raised her brows as if daring him to go further and he seemed to deflate.  “Of course, ma’am.”

Draco felt the stiff muscles in his shoulders unwind.  Both Proudfoot and McGonagall were watching the Aurors like hawks, effectively turning the tables on them.  Draco’s gaze lifted for a moment and caught upon the portrait above McGonagall’s desk for the first time that year.  Two blue eyes twinkled back at him, and he blinked before looking away, tense all over again as the familiar strain of guilt throbbed in his gut.   

Savage pulled something out of his robes.  A small bottle full of clear liquid, and McGonagall frowned.  “Is that quite necessary, Auror Savage?”

“Standard procedure, ma’am,” he stated gruffly and it was the first time he’d sounded firm about anything. 

McGonagall glanced at Proudfoot and she nodded back.

McGonagall sighed.  “Very well.”

Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat and McGonagall conjured a chair opposite her desk, gesturing for him to sit in it.  It was plusher than her usual seating arrangements and Draco thought fleetingly that it might be her way of apologizing, but he instantly dismissed the thought as preposterous.

Savage flicked his wand and Draco was forced to raise his feet from the floor when his chair turned until it was facing Proudfoot.  Savage conjured a wooden chair in the space between and gingerly sat down, obviously favoring his right leg.  Draco supposed he hid old war wounds beneath the folds of his robes as most Aurors his age did.  The thought only set him further on edge.  This man had experience fighting Death Eaters perhaps as far back as the first Wizarding War.  That was the type who tended to hold grudges. 

Savage leaned forward and held out the bottle.  “Two drops, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, the lump growing in his throat as he grasped the cold glass in his sweaty fingers.  He repeated _you’re innocent, you’re innocent_ like a mantra over and over in his head in an attempt to calm his racing heart, but he had secrets he’d rather keep, and he was smart enough to know just how much he risked revealing them all.  He could feel McGonagall’s eyes on him from across the desk, and the blue eyes twinkling at him just beyond her.  He took in a shuddering breath and brought the bottle up.  It was already uncapped, so he tipped it over his mouth, feeling the wet droplets hit his tongue, tasteless.  It wasn’t a comfort that he’d done this enough before to recognize the feeling of the potion sliding down his throat and seeping into his blood stream.  His mind grew foggy, complacent, and he bit his lip to keep his mouth tightly shut.  It was a futile attempt at control, but he couldn’t help hoping it might make a difference this time, even as his usual inhibitions floated away and his muscles relaxed. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” Savage muttered, and he took the bottle out of Draco’s lax grip.

Draco merely stared at him, struggling to stay as lucid as possible. 

“Right,” Savage began, apparently satisfied.  “Let’s begin.”  He glanced at Williamson, who was hovering over his right shoulder.  “Record this, will you?”

Williamson nodded and pulled out his wand, tapping it against his ear before he pressed it to his lips, muttering into the tip.  “Testing, testing.”

He tapped it again and his voice echoed the words back verbatim from his wand.  He nodded to Savage.  “Ready, sir.”

“Good,” Savage commended and he turned his attention back to Draco, his expression turning grim.  “What is your full name, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” he replied, licking his dry lips. 

“And your birth date?”

“5th June 1980.”

Savage nodded.  “Let it be known the witness Draco Lucius Malfoy has stated truthfully under the influence of Veritaserum administered by Jonathon Savage, Auror, and recorded by Rowan Williamson, Auror, in case file identification four-three-five-nine-five-dash-six.  Questions and responses pertain to the incident in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, victim Harry James Potter, assailant to-be-determined and as yet unknown.”

Savage glanced at Williamson, who nodded.  Savage leaned forward in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight as he stared at Draco.  “Right.  Mr. Malfoy, would you recount your involvement in the incident that took place in the Forbidden Forest last Wednesday, the tenth of October nineteen-ninety-eight, which led to the grievous injury of Harry James Potter and his subsequent hospitalization at St. Mungo’s?”

It was a vague question so Draco answered in kind, forcing himself to be as brief as possible.  He purposefully skipped over intimate conversations and details like Harry taking his hand just before the Pogrebin attacked, but only felt a twinge of pain at the memory of the attack itself, his emotions dulled by the Veritaserum.  When he’d described emerging from the forest alongside his classmates, he stopped, feeling the pull of the potion less and less. 

Savage stared at him, frowning slightly.  Clearly, he’d expected something different and it seemed to frustrate him.  Draco forced himself not to smirk, managing to control himself at least that much.

“Did you attack Mr. Potter?” Savage continued, his hazel eyes sharpening.

“No,” Draco denied, his deep bitterness buried under the soothing fog of the potion.  He fought against the urge to clarify by adding, _not this time, at least_.  Thankfully, he was able to swallow the words.

“Do you know who did?”

“No,” Draco replied, but the potion compelled him to complete the answer.  “I have a suspicion.  The wizard who met with Hagrid in the Hog’s Head, but I don’t know his name.  It was his Pogrebin, or so Hagrid says.  I’d advise you to start your investigation there, not that you’d listen to me.”

“You’ve never corresponded with this man?”

“No.” Draco frowned. 

“Have you been in contact with any former Death Eaters since the end of the war?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, letting the look of triumph settle in Savage’s eyes before adding, “My mother…and my father before he was sent to Azkaban.”

“No others?” Savage pressed.

“No.”  It was the first time Draco allowed himself to think of his isolation from his former House mates as a good thing.

“And your mother hasn’t done anything or indicated that she might still – ?”

“No,” Draco cut him off, scowling.  Anyone who knew what his mother had done for Harry would never have accused her of conspiring against him now.  Unless they believed her to be truly psychopathic.   

Savage sat back in his chair, watching him speculatively like he was a particularly difficult puzzle.  “Have you ever wanted to hurt Mr. Potter?”

“Is that question entirely necessary, Auror Savage?” McGonagall cut in, frowning.

“It’s a standard line of inquery, ma’am,” Savage replied gruffly, appearing a bit irritable for the first time.  “It’s important to flesh out every possible motive.”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed, before finally nodding to him curtly.  She looked far from happy about it, however, even as Savage repeated his question.

Draco bit his lip, the answer climbing up his throat, but he couldn’t keep it in and he looked away when he finally croaked out, “Yes, but –”

“Recently?”

Draco sent him a cold look.  The man was being deliberately vague.  Again.  “A month ago.”

“Why?”

“He humiliated me,” Draco replied.  It was the truth, if not the whole truth, but the potion let him get away with it. 

“How?”

“He wrote my mother and convinced her I needed my old wand,” Draco answered.  Savage narrowed his eyes, his bushy brows knitting questioningly, and Draco went on.  “My new wand wasn’t working, but I didn’t want to admit it, because my old wand had betrayed me…for him.”

“Did you, in fact, hurt Mr. Potter?”

Draco swallowed.  “Yes.  In a duel, but I hadn’t meant to – ”

“Do you still want to hurt Mr. Potter?” Savage cut in.

“No,” Draco bit out, glaring now.

“Have you ever wanted to kill Mr. Potter?”

Draco glared at him.  There he was again with the ambiguity, but Draco had to grimace as well.  He wasn’t proud of his answer.  “Yes, before the War ended.”

“Why?”

“We were enemies,” Draco grit out, but that answer was incomplete.  “I was jealous.”

“And eager to prove yourself?”

Draco stared at him, grimacing.  “Yes.”

“What changed after the war?”

“Voldemort died,” was the simplest answer, but again, incomplete.  Draco flicked his gaze to McGonagall’s for a moment.  She was staring at him with an unreadable expression.  He looked away, biting his lip.  “I wasn’t jealous anymore, just…grateful.”

“Would you follow Voldemort now if he was still alive?”

Draco tensed.  That was a loaded question, and the circumstances were complicated; had been in that last year before the end as well.  “Not willingly, no.”

Savage sat back in his chair and stared at him, brows rising just a tick.

“How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Potter now?”

“We’re…” Draco swallowed, thinking quickly.  “Friends.”

It wasn’t a lie, but he could feel the potion tugging at him to continue.  He bit his lip again, avoiding Savage’s gaze. 

“You’re fighting the potion, Mr. Malfoy,” Savage stated gruffly.  “It’s obvious.  Tell me the _whole_ truth.”

Malfoy closed his eyes and clamped his jaw shut as if that would make any difference.  He could feel everyone in the room watching him and he felt the traitorous heat rise in his cheeks.  _Shit_. 

When he opened his eyes again, Savage was still watching him expectantly and the words fought past his lips.  Savage had asked for the _whole_ truth, everything, and the potion urged him to fulfill that request.  There was nothing Draco could do, but obey.

When he finally clicked his mouth shut, the potion finally satisfied, the room was left utterly silent.  Savage and Williamson appeared particularly gobsmacked, but Proudfoot was staring pointedly out the nearest window and McGonagall didn’t look particularly surprised although her lips were pursed in clear discomfort.  The only person who seemed pleased in the wake of his revelation was Dumbledore in his golden frame, his mouth pulled into a gentle smile beneath his long, crooked nose.  Draco couldn’t help staring at him in bewilderment, an odd warmth burrowing through years of suffocating guilt. 

Then he tore his gaze away and shook his head, attempting to sound nonchalant and probably failing, what with the way his voice rose several octaves.  “Is that all?”

Before Savage could reply, McGonagall nodded and stood up.  “Yes, that will be all, Mr. Malfoy.  You are dismissed.”

Savage worked his mouth open and closed for a moment as if to object, but then he simply shook his head and ran a hand down his weather-worn face, not contradicting her.

Draco stood up and escaped without looking back.

“That was rather more detail than I’d –“

The door slid shut behind Draco, thankfully cutting Williamson off, and the spiral staircase carried him down quicker than usual as if in sympathy.   

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was time for lunch by the time he stumbled out into the hall, and he ignored the groups of passers-by who no doubt wished nothing but ill to befall his person, what with all the glaring.  He decided Granger had probably taken his things back up to the tower after their lesson, so he took the quickest route there, doing his best to remain as inconspicuous as possible and avoiding the most crowded hallways on the bottom floor.  When he finally entered the common room, he was relieved to see it largely empty, but for Granger and Weasley who turned toward him from their seat at the couch. 

“Wha –?”  Weasley began, half out of his seat, but Draco cut him off.

“Don’t ask,” Draco snapped.  “The Veritaserum hasn’t worn off, and I’d doubt you’d want to know.”

Weasley, who had been working up to an indignant expression, closed his mouth with a definite click and settled back down, obviously deciding Draco had a point.  

Granger opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it before she scooted closer to Weasley on the couch and patted the open spot next to her.  Draco stiffened at first, but he could feel the resistance draining out of him and the next thing he knew, he was sliding down onto the cushion beside her.  She handed him his wand and he nodded gratefully.

“Ron took your things back up to the dorm,” she explained before he could ask.

Draco nodded again and sat back, still a bit woozy as he stared into the flames of the fireplace.

They sat there in silence for a while and Draco was grateful for the reprieve, finally relaxing for the first time that day.  He caught snippets of Granger and Weasley’s words as they slipped back into conversation, but he didn’t pay enough attention to follow any one thread.  Granger’s work was spread out over the table, her arithmancy book open alongside a parchment stack of notes.  She noticed him eyeing them and pushed them toward him without hesitation.

“These are what you missed from the lecture,” she explained unnecessarily, and Draco nodded, taking the offering.

He stood up, rolling the parchments into a scroll, and made his way up to the boy’s dorm where his supplies were.  Granger and Weasley watched him go, but didn’t say anything.  In the safety of the empty dormitory, he pulled his book bag onto his mattress and settled down in his four-poster to work with the curtains drawn, casting a muffliato on them for good measure.  He stayed there, copying notes until the room grew dark and he could barely see Granger’s neat scrawl on the paper.  He rubbed his eyes tiredly, but his head was clearer than before.  The potion had finally washed out of his system. 

When he came back down, Granger and Weasley were still there, working diligently, and Draco ignored everyone else.  Most of his Housemates didn’t even spare him a glance, anyway, as if they preferred to ignore his existence.  He liked that just fine, and was glad neither Finnigan nor Smith were in residence.  He spotted Longbottom sitting at a corner table, head in his hands as he poured over a tome, too engrossed to notice his arrival, most likely, which was just as well.  Draco sat beside Granger again and she glanced up at him.

“Has the potion worn off?”

“Yes,” he replied, handing her back her notes. 

“They’re not going to cart you off to Azkaban, are they?” Weasley muttered, eyeing him with something bordering on concern, which was a feat in itself.  He looked a bit constipated by the effort, though, and Draco grimaced.

“Don’t strain yourself, Weasley,” he sneered.  “sympathy isn’t your look.”

Weasley scowled.  “I’m only asking for Harry’s sake.  Like I’d care if you rotted in prison.”      

“Of course,” Draco stated acerbically.  “Forgive me, this all must be such a hardship for you.”

Granger let out a long breath and leveled Draco with an exasperated look.  “I assume you were able to prove your innocence, at least?”

“More or less,” Draco muttered.  “At least, they hadn’t tried to drag me back to the Ministry for further questioning.  Although, that might have been due to McGonagall and Proudfoot breathing down their necks.”

Weasley’s lips twitched amidst his scowl.  “I would have liked to see that.”

Draco allowed himself to smirk.  “They were quite intimidating.”

Granger smiled.  “I’d expected the Aurors to pull you into a broom closet and interrogate you there.”

“I’m certain that had been their original plan,” Draco agreed, frowning.  “But Proudfoot caught us in the Entrance Hall.”

“Good,” Granger stated, clearly pleased.  “I’d wondered why they were roaming the school alone without an escort.  That isn’t usually allowed.”

“McGonagall wasn’t pleased, at any rate,” Draco agreed, thinking on how much worse the interrogation would have been if she hadn’t sent Proudfoot to collect them.  Although, he wasn’t exactly comfortable with what she had heard because of it.  Even now, he felt humiliated just thinking about everything he’d admitted.  At this rate, everyone in the Wizarding World would be abreast of his scandalous relationship with Harry Potter, and to think, he’d once accused _Harry_ of being flippant with the information. 

Draco rubbed a hand over his face and groaned.  There was nothing good that could come of this.  Especially when Harry was still unconscious in St. Mungo’s, presumably fighting for his life. 

“What’d you tell them?” Granger asked softly, her brows knit in concern.  Draco eyed her and could already see the dots connecting in her head.

“More than I should have,” he replied, his voice strained.  “That bloody potion.  I couldn’t stop.”

“You mean…?” Weasley asked, his brows rising.

Draco grimaced and that seemed to be answer enough for Weasley, because his face turned slightly off-color, but he huffed out something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.  “ _Merlin_.”

Draco glared at him.  “I’m glad my humiliation amuses you.”

“No, but –“ Weasley chuckled again a bit breathlessly and he actually looked away, obviously trying to school his features into something that resembled detached interest, but then he snorted loudly, and his attempt at control crumbled.  “The _looks_ that must have been on the Aurors’ faces when you told them!  I would have given my last galleon to see that.”

“That wouldn’t have been hard,” Draco sneered.  “Given your family’s –“

“Was it really so horrible?” Granger cut in.  Weasley was still snorting into his hand, though, looking as if Christmas had come early. 

Draco glared at her.  “I had to tell them _everything_ , Granger.  In _detail_.”

“Oh,” she squeaked and she had the grace to blush.  “Well, that’s…unfortunate.”

“And you said this in front of McGonagall and _Proudfoot_?” Weasley pressed gleefully. 

Draco scowled, but didn’t say anything.  He was done with the both of them. 

“I reckon those Aurors regretted their decision to interrogate you, hey?” Weasley chuckled, ignoring Draco’s dismissal.  “Bet they hadn’t expected that.”

“I hope it keeps them up at night,” Draco muttered petulantly.  “The tossers.”

Weasley only laughed, and Draco fought it with every fiber of his being, but he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips.  Weasley was such an _arse_.    

“Harry’s going to _love_ this when he finds out,” Weasley observed, smirking with a faraway look. 

Draco stared at him, tensing, but Weasley merely watched him, his smirk softening into a smile that bordered on reassuring.  Draco unclenched his hands, which had fisted on his lap, and he remembered to breathe again.  Weasley clearly had more faith in Harry’s recovery than Draco did, and that was unacceptable. 

“You tell him and you die, Weasley,” Draco finally threatened after a long, pregnant pause that had been inconspicuous to no one.  “I’ll personally see to it.”

Weasley just grinned widely, not rising to the bait.

Granger shook her head at them both and gathered her things, her movements suspiciously stilted.  “It’s time for dinner.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The Room of Requirement was the same as it had been the week before.  Every wall a mirror, brightly lit candle chandeliers floating along the ceiling.  Draco strove to appear unaffected, even bored, as McGonagall strode to the front, and addressed the group.  It helped that her gaze seemed to skip right over him every time she scanned the room.  As usual, Finnigan, Smith, and the others huddled around them took turns glaring back at him just as they had during dinner.  He supposed they were disappointed he was still here after his impromptu abduction from Arithmancy, and he tried to hide a smirk.  He let them stew in their own frustration, and did his best to ignore them, which was less than they deserved. 

McGonagall sent Finnigan a sharp look and he instantly stilled, watching her warily.  She raised a pointed brow, but said nothing, turning her attention to the rest of the class.

“We have now reached the point in this course I am sure you have all been waiting for,” she began crisply.  “We will now endeavor to transform into our animagus forms, piece by piece.”

The Eighth Years shifted restlessly at the news, but Draco clenched a fist in his robe pocket.  Harry should have been here for this, but he shook his head against the thought.  Knowing him, he’d easily catch up with the rest of them if – _when_ he came back. 

“Transformation into your animagus requires not only competent transfiguration skills, but a level of focus necessary to control the instincts of the animal you transform into.  For you see, animagus transfiguration involves not only taking on the guise of an animal, but the mentality of that animal as well.  Becoming an animagus is especially difficult for this reason.  The witch or wizard who successfully transforms not only conquers the physical traits of the beast, but the beast within.  Some simply cannot withstand the powerful instincts of their animal and risk losing themselves in the process.”

The room was silent at that proclamation.  Some students, like Su Li who had been struggling since the beginning, appeared particularly anxious.

“As we continue,” McGonagall stated, her voice softer now.  “Some of you may struggle, and you may decide you cannot finish.  No one will think any less of you if this is the case, given the risks.  It takes a certain type of witch or wizard to be able to complete all of the components necessary and gain control both physically and mentally over their animagus form, and even then, it can take years to perfect.  This is precisely why this course is elective, and completely independent of your final marks at this school.  From now on, it will be largely up to each of you whether or not you will continue.  However, if I find that you are struggling or putting yourselves at risk, I will intervene however I see fit, even if that means you must cease the course.  I trust that you will respect my judgment and cooperate if it comes to that with the understanding that I have your best interests and safety at heart.”

“Is that understood?” she questioned, surveying them all.

“Yes, Professor,” they muttered dutifully. 

Draco caught Granger and Weasley sending each other determined looks.

“Very well,” McGonagall accepted solemnly.  “We will begin today by transfiguring one part of the body into the animagus form.  If your animal has a tail, I suggest transfiguring that first, as it will be the least difficult.  If your animal lacks a tail, attempt a foot or a leg, any part of the body that is furthest away from the head.  The closer you come to transfiguring the cranium, the more you will struggle with the instincts of that animal.  It’s best to start small and work up to it.

“Our next lesson will deal with transfiguring the rest of the limbs, and following lessons will deal with transfiguring organs and other life-systems of the body.  Each lesson will become more difficult until the transformation is complete.  As I have stated, do not hesitate to cease the course if you find yourself unable to handle the level of difficulty.  I will not think any less of you and neither should your peers.”

Draco doubted he would ever allow himself to give up so easily, but a cursory glance about the room revealed a fair number of students already appearing anxious at the mere prospect of transfiguring a limb.  Su Li and Hannah Abbott looked particularly nervous, but so did Smith, which was gratifying if not expected. 

“The method is simple, if not the execution,” McGonagall instructed, taking out her wand.  “It mainly involves focusing on the body part in question and stating the incantation in the proper tone.”

She closed her eyes and swished her wand in a broad arc.  “Mutatia Alis.”

Draco couldn’t see the change until she opened her eyes and lifted a foot out of one shiny black boot, revealing a cat’s paw instead.  It looked ridiculous and Thomas snorted, obviously trying to muffle it with his arm, but McGonagall merely smirked.

“I think you can all be glad I didn’t demonstrate with my tail,” she stated drily. 

The majority of students tittered appreciatively once the implications of such a process sank in.

“If you do go that route, which I would recommend,” she continued.  “May I suggest that you keep your robes on as to avoid any embarrassment.  I find it helps if you are wearing a skirt, but for the decidedly less effeminate students in this class, I suggest lowering your trousers to just below your tail bone.  Otherwise, you run the risk of ripping through them.” 

With that particularly helpful advice and a dry smirk, she instructed them to face a mirror and start.  Draco followed Granger and Weasley to the back of the room, and studiously avoided Weasley’s gaze as they faced the mirror side-by-side. 

Granger eyed her reflection before promptly waving her wand and transfiguring her trousers into a skirt.  Draco raised a brow, reluctantly impressed.

“If you ask me, this entire activity is a bit sexist,” Weasley complained, eyeballing her, but his gaze had caught upon her bare legs with interest.

She sent him a look, and raised her wand.  Weasley yelped and suddenly his trousers were replaced by a well-tailored kilt. 

“Erm…” he stuttered, looking down and knocking his knobbly knees together self-consciously.

“You were saying?” Granger questioned drily. 

Draco let out a disgusted breath.  He could have gone an entire life time without seeing Weasley’s pale, copper-haired legs. 

Weasley scowled at her in the mirror.  “You’re lucky we’re in Scotland, ‘Mione.  Otherwise, this would be inappropriate.”

Granger just shook her head at him.  “You can thank me later.” 

She eyed Draco then, and he immediately frowned. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Malfoy,” Weasley prodded.  “We’ve already seen you in a skirt.”

Draco rolled his eyes, because it was true but that had clearly been a different sort of circumstance.  Granger waved her wand again, however, and his resistance was moot.

“How come his gets tassels, then?” Weasley opined, eyeing Draco’s brand new green-plaid kilt in the mirror with a vaguely envious expression.

“Clearly, you can’t handle tassels,” Draco stated, smugness ultimately winning out over his initial indignation.  Although he brought his thighs closer together.  He thought he felt a draft. 

Weasley scowled and Granger threw up her hands.  “I hardly think tassels matter, Ron.”

“Then why did you give them to _Malfoy_?” Weasley muttered petulantly. 

“It was just on a _whim_ ,” she hissed.  “It’s not as if I’d meant to…never mind.  We need to focus.  I do, at least.  You can transfigure your own tassels if you want.”

Weasley muttered to himself, but she was already focusing on her reflection, completely ignoring them both.  He and Draco frowned at each other over her head, then looked away.  They fell into silence after that, grudgingly getting to work. 

Draco found the process frustratingly difficult, and it felt like ages of closing his eyes, imagining a wolf’s tail, and incanting the spell before something even changed.  There was a sharp tingle at the base of his spine and he surreptitiously patted at his backside, feeling a small stub that seemed to move.  He shivered a bit.  It was the oddest thing he’d ever felt on his own body and that was including the time he’d transformed himself into a girl.

It was a long while after that, before the stump grew into something closer to a tail, and he could feel long fur brushing at his backside.  Granger was already turning around and inspecting her full otter tail in the mirror, the furry tip just visible beneath her skirt as she made it sway from side to side with an expression of pure concentration.  Weasley seemed to have accidentally sprouted fur on his hands and he was staring at them in horrified fascination.     

Draco turned and tried to inspect his progress, but his robes were in the way.  Once he took them off, he could just see the tip of a bushy tail peeking out from under his kilt.  It was snow-white and covered in long fur.  It twitched a bit every time he moved as if it had a mind of its own.  Someone yelped on the other side of the room and he couldn’t help it when his tail suddenly lifted up, raising the back of his kilt along with it.  He hastily turned around and clamped down on it with his hands, looking about to make sure no one had seen the slip, then sighed in relief when he realized everyone else was too busy to be looking his way.  The fingers of his right hand slipped down over the soft fur of his tail and he froze at the odd feeling.  The appendage twitched in his grasp, pushing up against the palm of his other hand, and he struggled to flatten it back down.  He couldn’t seem to control it with his thoughts in the same way he did his other limbs, probably because he’d never had one before.  He imagined he’d have to learn how to control it much the same way a baby had to learn how to walk, and that was a bit terrifying.  McGonagall had said this was supposed to be the easiest part, and already he was having some difficulty. 

“It’s beautiful,” Granger observed, and Draco glanced up at her, startled to see her gazing down at what was visible of his tail.  She smiled a bit.  “Is it all that color?”

Draco frowned and pulled the kilt back a bit so he could see more of it.  “It seems so.”

“It’s almost the color of your hair,” she stated.  “But a purer white, I suppose.  Not necessarily the best color if you didn’t want to be noticed, although it could work in snow.”

Draco stared down at it, remembering the dreams.  “Then my wolf is the opposite of Harry’s.”

Granger’s brows knit in question and Draco murmured, “His wolf is black.”

“How do you know?” Granger questioned.

Draco shrugged, barely thinking about how odd he sounded until the words were already out of his mouth.  “I’ve seen it.  In dreams.”

Granger stared at him, nonplussed, but then Weasley moaned pitifully from behind her and she reluctantly turned away to assist him, glancing back at Draco curiously only once. 

Draco prepared himself for an interrogation when the lesson was over, but she didn’t say anything.  She simply disappeared afterward, claiming she had to study, and when she rejoined them in the Great Hall for dinner, Draco doing his level best to ignore everyone around them, she didn’t say anything either.  She only sent him speculative glances every once and a while from across the table, between reading passages in an old, time-worn tome he’d never seen her carrying before.  Draco decided he preferred the silence over an inquisition, but it still left him on edge, even later that night when he was lying alone in his four-poster with the curtains drawn, as he stared up blankly at the dark ceiling.

She must have thought him mad.

His eyes slipped shut eventually and then he was running through hallways that smelled like potions and illness.  He dashed past white-robed humans who ignored him as they ambled, and through doors that had only just been pushed open by other humans, lying across soft planks as they floated aloft.  He slid into another hall, following his nose, recognizing a scent that filled his lungs with warmth.  There were less people here, only a few standing along the walls, but they didn’t notice him as he dashed past, slipping beneath the floating balls of light that hovered in the air.  He took a deep breath in through his nose, the scent growing stronger, and howled.  He was close.

Doors were no barrier as he barreled through, unnoticed, and it wasn’t long before he reached two large doors at the end of the hall, humans standing sentry on either side, holding their sticks and staring dispassionately into the middle-distance.  He passed them easily, the scent so strong he could taste it on his tongue, and he skid into a large, round room with one single bed in the middle, his gaze catching upon an all too familiar figure floating just above the mattress. 

He stopped and stared upward, the man’s thin clothes and black hair rippling as if he was suspended under water, the soft, blue light of the room only adding to the impression.  Draco padded forward on soft, quiet paws, but he was too low to see the man’s face.

He sat back and whined pitifully, breathing in the familiar musky scent, buried beneath potions and the sting of old magic.  His mate wasn’t moving.  His mate was somewhere else.  He had to call him back.

He pulled his head back and howled long and low.  “ _Harry!_ ”

_“HARRY!”_

_“Come back!”_

_“Please!”_

_“I’m here!”_

Suddenly, the floating body jerked and the room lit up from a deep blue to a bright yellow.  White-robed humans rushed through the doors, something wailing loudly on the other side.  Draco growled at them, but they paid him no heed, swarming around his mate, waving their sticks and placing their hands on him.  Draco snapped at their heels, but the humans didn’t seem to notice.  Draco growled again in frustration, struggling to see past them as they lowered his mate down onto the mattress, frantic voices melding over each other in the din. 

One human started crying and another finally stepped to the side, revealing the bed.  Draco stopped, his ears pricking forward.  Two familiar green eyes stared straight back at him, chapped lips parting around a gasp.

Draco woke up, his heart racing in his chest, tears stinging his eyes and clouding his vision. 

That hadn’t been a dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um…what? Yeah, I don’t know! Oh my god…I hope this chapter made sense…there’s still more plot to cover and whatnot, but yeah…Harry…yay? You know what? Just ignore me…my brain is jumbled for some reason. That’ll happen when you spend hours painting children’s faces…apparently. 
> 
> Also…um…some of you have commented on the chapter titles looking like a poem? That’s actually not far off. They’re the lyrics to a song by Snow Patrol called My Brothers. It was what I was listening to when I first thought up this fic and I think it fits…mostly. You should listen to it on Youtube if you have the chance. It’s really good. 
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr now. I'm lampsprite-art there. You can follow me if you like!
> 
> As always, thank you so soo much for reading. I love you all.


	22. But you're Jar-trapped Bees

A lead weight settled in his stomach that next morning.  There was nothing of interest in the Prophet.  At least, nothing about Harry.  Instead there was a full cover article about the Aurors searching Malfoy Manor and taking his mother in for questioning.  It wasn’t shocking in the slightest, but it still made his jaw clench and his teeth ache.  Outside of that, the rag was riddled with articles about recent Death Eater attacks across Britain, but he had no intention of reading them. 

Granger was sending him cautious looks from across the table while Weasley stuffed his face, obviously keen on ignoring the tension emanating off of Draco in waves.  Draco all but flung the paper back across the table and glared at his pumpkin juice. 

He hadn’t revealed anything about the dream he’d had early that morning to either Granger or Weasley.  He’d initially had the intention to do so when he’d gotten out of bed before dawn and trudged down the stairs to sit in the common room – adrenaline pumping through his veins as he’d stared into the dying flames in the fireplace – but the moment he’d caught Granger’s eye when she’d entered the common room hours later, the words had lodged themselves in his throat and he’d realized it was stupid to reveal such a thing.  There was no need to give her more reason to research him like some sort of magical anomaly or worse, someone who had all but lost the plot. 

“I’m sure your mother’s fine,” Granger murmured now, obviously misreading Draco’s reaction, and Draco glanced up at her, suddenly hating himself for not being too concerned with his mother’s situation.

He nodded, though, because of course his mother would be fine.  She was innocent, and as a former Death Eater, she’d had to suffer frequent raids by the ministry.  It was simply a fact of life, something else to fit into her regular routine – eat breakfast, tend the garden, let Aurors ransack the manor for non-existent evidence.  Honestly, ever since the trials, the manor was only theirs in name anyway.  The ministry owned the deed now and it was lucky they hadn’t just sold it off to the highest bidder.  He’d suspected something, or someone, had stopped them, and Draco had suspected he knew just who that someone was.  It was yet another reason why Draco had been able to let all of his past bitterness go, and let something else grow in its place, unrecognizable until he simply couldn’t ignore it anymore.    

His chest suddenly ached at the thought.  He missed Harry to a level that must have been unhealthy.  He’d never understood what people had meant by the term ‘heart-ache’ until now, but he wished he’d remained ignorant.  It certainly felt like his heart was beating through sludge.  It was far from pleasant, and it did nothing for the tenuous state of his sanity apparently, given the vivid nature of the dream he’d had last night. 

It couldn’t have been real, surely, given the lack of press.  Or maybe the ministry was keeping Harry’s recovery a secret.  Maybe Harry was awake now, the worst of his struggle for survival over as he recovered in privacy. 

He was jarred from his thoughts when something fell into Weasley’s pudding with a loud plop, subsequently splattering Weasley in sticky, brown liquid.  Weasley yelped as the sludge slid down his face, and eyed the thing writhing around in his pudding before it hopped out and shook the pudding off, revealing itself to be a tiny snitch-shaped owl. 

“Pig, you barmy prat!” Weasley reprimanded with a scowl, but the bird only hooted excitedly and bounced around.

Weasley snatched the letter from his leg, and made a face at it as the brown goop dripped stickily onto the tabletop.  Granger waved her wand and wiped Weasley and the parchment clean. 

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Weasley grunted distractedly, pushing his soiled bowl of pudding away and staring at the handwriting on the envelope.  “It’s from mum.”

Draco stiffened, but Weasley was already ripping through the wax seal.  He pulled the parchment out and unfolded it, eyes skipping across the page as he scanned the words.  Granger leaned over and read it over his shoulder.  Draco eyed them both impatiently, wondering if his dream would be confirmed.  He hadn’t recognized anyone other than Harry while he was in the dream, but the moment he’d woken he realized who had been in the room.  Weasley’s mother had been the one crying over Harry’s bedside.  If the dream was, in fact, some sort of vision, she’d be able to confirm it. 

But neither Weasley nor Granger showed any sign that the news was anything good, if anything, they grew tenser as they read.  Weasley finally put the parchment down and sighed.  Granger’s brows knitted, her lips tugged down into a frown. 

“What?” Draco questioned, looking from Weasley to Granger and back again, crawling out of his skin with agitation.  Something horrible must have happened, he knew it.  He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, his heart rate jumping. 

“Your mum read the Prophet,” Granger stated scornfully, eyeing Weasley as if she blamed him.

Weasley put up his hands.  “Oi, I told her not to believe that tripe.  I tried to convince her that Harry would want Malfoy there.”

“We’re _not_ leaving him here,” Granger insisted.

Weasley shook his head, but he looked far from surprised, maybe a bit fond.  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“What about Harry?” Draco questioned, but his earlier panic was subsiding.  If their greatest concern was that Weasley’s mother refused to allow Draco visitation rights, then it was hardly the end of the world.  By all rights, he’d expected that reaction anyway.

Both Weasley and Granger sent him a look, but then Weasley shrugged sheepishly.  “She didn’t say anything about him.  I reckon he’s the same.”

Draco let out a breath, disappointment sweeping through him.  It had just been a dream, then – a stupid dream that had kept him up half the night with a mistaken frisson of hope. 

“We’re supposed to visit St. Mungo’s Saturday morning,” Granger continued, eyeing Draco.

“You mean you two are,” Draco supplied bitterly.

“We _all_ are,” Granger insisted.  “ _Honestly_ , we won’t go if you don’t.”

“Oi, I never said –  !“ Weasley objected, but he snapped his mouth shut in the face of Granger’s glare.  He crumpled in defeat.  “Right.  Of course.  We’re a united front.  My mum will hex me, and I’ll most certainly lose some important bits to the cause, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“That is, of course, assuming you _have_ any important bits,” Draco muttered snidely just as Granger had rolled her eyes. 

“Ginny’s been invited as well,” Weasley bit back with a scowl, as if that fact alone would send Draco cowering.

“I would assume so,” Draco muttered dryly.  “Your mother’s obviously keen to reunite the golden couple and restore a relationship the Prophet has accused me of tampering with for my own nefarious purposes.  Obviously your mother doesn’t trust me, and if she’s apparently stupid enough to believe what the Prophet is peddling, she’ll believe the break-up was only possible because Harry was coerced by an outside party – namely me.  She’ll want your sister at Harry’s bedside with the expectation that when he’s awake, he’ll be free of my influence and able to see the error of his ways.”

“I hardly think – “ Granger began, but Weasley cut her off.

“It’s not like it’s an unfair assumption, though, is it?” Weasley grumbled.  “Technically, you _are_ the reason Harry broke up with her.”

Some of the other Eighth Years – namely Longbottom, Abbott, Brown, and Patil, who had been pretending, badly, that they weren’t listening in on their entire conversation up until this point – stiffened and stared at Weasley, wide-eyed.  Granger froze mid-sip from her goblet to send her boyfriend a withering look.

Draco winced, and glared at the complete idiot for good measure, his voice a low hiss.  “Whether you believe me or not, that decision was his own.  I had _nothing_ to do with it.”

“We’ll just have to go together,” Granger redirected, heading off a row.  “Your mum will have to back down when she realizes how important this is to us.”

Weasley frowned and raised a copper brow.  “Have you met my mother?”

Granger frowned and shook her head, before scooping some porridge into her bowl.  “I’ll admit she’s stubborn, but I know her weakness.”

“What’s that then?” Weasley questioned, clearly skeptical.  “I’ve been trying to figure that one out for ages.” 

Granger merely smiled. 

Weasley’s gaze flickered to lock with Draco’s, and they shared a moment of solidarity in mutual distrust of female machinations, before they both seemed to remember at the same moment that they didn’t even like each other and stared down at their breakfasts instead.

Weasley proceeded to stuff his face with eggs, before getting up and trudging over to the Gryffindor table where he handed his mother’s missive off to his sister.  She appeared less than thrilled by his intrusion even as she took the parchment and read it over.  If anything she seemed to grow tenser the longer she stared at it.

Draco ripped his gaze away from the scene and decided he should depart.  He needed to owl his mother to make certain she was all right and, he realized with a flash of dread, assure her that the Prophet’s claims were a load of dragon droppings – not that she usually trusted their claims anyway, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.  The dread only settled into his stomach, however, when he realized her reaction to the truth would be even worse should she figure it out.  He grimaced.  In all of his anxious thoughts surrounding his relationship with Harry up until this point, he’d somehow failed to concern himself with her reaction should she find out about the decidedly non-platonic turn it had taken.  That was a major oversight, and he would no doubt pay for it. 

He stood up from the table, feeling a bit ill, and Granger sent him a questioning look, but he merely muttered “Owlery”, before he took off, not looking back.  He ignored the familiar eyes on him until he was back out in the empty Entrance Hall, and he made his way to the Owlery with a churning stomach, his thoughts a jumble. 

How could he have forgotten about his mother?  He’d been so distracted by Harry and the more immediate obstacles at Hogwarts that he’d completely missed the most important potential obstacle of all.  He honestly had no idea how she would react if she found out, but he suspected it would be decidedly negative.  Homosexuality was not unknown to Pureblood families, but it wasn’t expressly condoned either.  In fact, it was about as tolerated as a relationship between a pureblood and someone of contaminated stock.  After all, if the ultimate goal was to produce heirs and keep the line pure, both practices were hindrances to that cause.  Unfortunately, not only was Draco in a relationship with a man, but that man’s ancestry, while respectable, was far from unsullied. 

He traversed the empty halls moodily, his steps echoing across the stones, but even in his distracted state, he felt a familiar tingling at the back of his neck as if he was being watched.  He pulled out his wand and swung around, tensing for a confrontation, but there was nothing there, not even a flicker of magic from some sort of concealment charm.  He stood there, staring out into space, but his heart rate slowed down even as he gripped his wand.  Slowly, he let out a breath and turned back around.  He was probably being paranoid, which wasn’t anything new.

He was, however, a lot more cognizant of his surroundings the rest of the way to the Owlery, and he only allowed himself to relax minutely when he climbed the spiraling staircase up the tower.  When he reached the top, a blast of cold, morning air hit his face and ruffled his hair. 

Thankfully, the Owlery was empty.  He shivered and cast a warming charm before he crossed the room and leaned against one of the dew-soaked imposts to stare out at the misty grounds beyond.  The owls hooted curiously from their perches above him, but he ignored them as the familiar dread continued to twist his gut into a knot.

His mother would never approve of Draco’s tryst with Harry when she found out the truth, and she would find it out, he had no doubt.  In fact, Draco winced, there was every possibility that the Aurors had already told her.  After that disastrous interrogation in McGonagall’s office the day before, of course, they knew everything now.  Although he didn’t know why the Aurors would find that information pertinent to their investigation, perhaps they would use it simply to observe his mother’s reaction.  It could be some sort of test.  If she reacted negatively, it would only confirm their view that she was still an enemy of Harry Potter or at the very least, a pureblooded bigot, which was hardly a fanciable reputation to have after the war.  Draco doubted, however, that she would allow her mask to slip no matter what they told her.  She was a master of deflection and feigned complacency.  They’d have more luck interrogating a statue.  After they departed, however, the mask would fall, and she would certainly make her disapproval known through a pointedly worded letter. 

Draco had to think of a way to combat that, because he couldn’t…

He trembled, curling his fingers over the edge of the stone impost, and watched his knuckles turn white. 

He didn’t want to give any of it up – not Harry or his mother – and the sudden conviction that swelled up within him at that thought was shocking in its intensity.  It was as if he’d spent his entire life fumbling through the dark, grasping at beacons of praise and approval from others, when all along he’d had the power to light his own way.  He knew what he wanted now, and it was like a path glowing before him, leading him in a very definite direction.  The fear was still there, but the uncertainty was gone.  He didn’t know when that had changed, but he suspected witnessing Harry bleeding out over the dried leaves and parched soil of the forbidden forest had provided the final push.

That didn’t solve anything, of course.  He had no idea what he would say to his mother, or how he would explain it so that she would understand, or at least…not disown him.  He could live with her disapproval, if he had to, but he certainly wouldn’t prefer it.  Just the thought of it made his chest seize up and his breath hitch in the cold air.  But he couldn’t do what she wanted of him either.  He’d done that his entire life, and while he loved her, he’d experienced first-hand the risks of following his parents’ path blindly.            

It had nearly been the death of him.

He pulled a piece of parchment out of his bag, his fingers trembling, and smoothed it out on the uneven stone of the ledge.  He found his quill and jotted out a general note.  He’d ignore the issue for now, and hope she wasn’t aware of it yet. He asked after her health, emphasized that the Prophet articles were a load of drivel, and reassured her that he was doing well in general.  By the time he was done, his cursive script filled about five inches of parchment, and he stared at it a moment, his breath fogging in the morning air, before he rolled it up and tied it with twine.     

Suddenly, the owls fluttered restlessly above him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end in warning.  He whirled around just in time to stare down the shaft of a wand, and stiffened.  He clutched at the useless roll of parchment in his hand and took in his assailant, but he couldn’t recognize the boy at all.  He seemed young, a Third Year at most, with his big brown eyes and trembling lips.  He was oddly proportioned, like a lanky puppy that had barely grown into its large paws, but the boy was glaring at him solidly, all bravado and good intentions.  Draco eyed his robes, unsurprised to discover he was a Gryffindor.

Absurdly, he was reminded a bit of Harry. 

Draco stared at him, and swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, his heart rate lowering from the frantic peak of shock it had reached only moments before.  The boy watched him, wide-eyed, apparently frozen with nerves.  Draco raised a brow, finding his voice.  “Can I help you?”

The boy startled and licked his lips, but his wand remained remarkably steady.  Draco had to give him that.  The boy didn’t say or do anything though, and after a long moment in which Draco had actually begun to grow bored, he raised his brows again and moved to lower his hands.

“Don’t!” The Gryffindor barked abruptly, and Draco stiffened, leaving his hands where they were.  “Stay where you are, Malfoy.”

“Or what?” Draco questioned drily, hardly intimidated at this point.  “You’ll kill me?”

“N-no,” he stuttered through a scowl.  “I’ll hex you.”

“Well, that would be stupid of you,” Draco drawled.  Gryffindors _, honestly_.  “Now that I’ve seen your face, the moment I recover, I’ll just inform McGonagall and she’ll have you expelled.”

The boy’s expression tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

Draco sighed.  This was exhausting and ridiculous, really.  “Fine.  I’m just going to –“

“Stupefy!”

Draco tensed, but it took him a moment to realize it hadn’t been his assailant who had shouted the spell, because the boy crumpled to the ground, out cold, his wand rolling across the stone floor and coming to a stop at Draco’s feet.  Draco looked up to find Harper stepping out of the shadows of the stairwell, appearing quite pleased with himself as he ambled over. 

Draco’s eyes narrowed.  “I’d had it under control, Harper.”

“Not from where I was standing, and is that really how you greet an ally?” Harper pouted.  He kicked the Gryffindor for good measure, and stepped over his prone form, stopping just beside Draco and turning as if to survey his handiwork. 

Draco raised a brow and side-eyed him suspiciously.  “Ally?  I was unaware.  Forgive me, but only a month ago you’d accused me of being a blood-traitor.”

Harper looked back at him then, his mouth quirked, something like cold amusement flashing in his dark eyes.  “Obviously, I was wrong.”

Draco stared at him, wanting to question that assumption, but he bit his tongue.  He had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.  He’d rather not have Harper as an ally, either, if this instance was anything to go by.  His interference had only made things worse.  “You realize when he wakes up, he’ll blame me.  Unless that was your plan all along.”

“You really are quite paranoid, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Harper questioned with a raised brow and an innocent look that didn’t fool Draco in the slightest.

Draco frowned.  Harper had hardly given him any reason to trust him, especially now.  “It’s kept me alive.”

Harper sighed long-sufferingly.  “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

Draco stiffened, but Harper shook his head.  “I’ll obliviate him.”

Draco didn’t like that at all, but he weighed his options, and realized it was most likely the only viable solution.  “How proficient are you at Memory charms?”

“The best,” Harper replied, showing all of his teeth in a grin. 

Draco frowned at him, but he nodded curtly, and turned to find his owl.  For once, Elatus seemed to sense his need for him, and was uncharacteristically obedient as he fluttered down from the rafters.  The bird landed on the impost beside him and Draco tied the missive to his leg.

“To mother,” Draco muttered, just under his breath, and the owl took off.

When Draco turned back around, Harper was crouching over the young Gryffindor’s prone form, pointing his wand at the boy’s forehead.  Draco felt a bit sick at the sight.  Harper glanced up at him.  “You should probably go before he wakes up.”

Draco hesitated, wondering if he should stay and make sure the Gryffindor was safe, but he hardly thought Harper was going to murder the boy.  At least not when Draco knew what Harper was doing.  Harper proclaimed he was Draco’s ally, but he was still a Slytherin.  In an alliance, trust could only be measured by how much one could gain from the other.  Obviously, Harper thought there was a great benefit to helping Draco, something that would net him a positive return worth any calculable risk.  At some point, he would ask Draco a favor for this kindness, and Draco would be honor-bound to at least consider it, measuring the pros and cons of this alliance for himself.  It was a dance he hadn’t performed in a while, but he’d known all the steps from a young age, and it wasn’t too difficult to find the rhythm again, even if it unnerved him now. 

Draco narrowed his eyes, but nodded unnecessarily, because Harper wasn’t even looking at him anymore, and Draco made his escape, swallowing around the bad taste in his mouth. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The bad taste hadn’t left by Saturday morning when he stood awkwardly beside Granger, Weasley, and a tense Weaslette in McGonagall’s office, waiting for someone to arrive and escort them through the floo to St. Mungo’s.  The only sound in the room came from the scratching of McGonagall’s quill as she wrote at her desk, undercut by the soft murmur of some portraits whispering to each other, hardly subtle in their topic of conversation as they eyed the group below.  After the last time Draco had been in this office, he had hardly been able to look McGonagall properly in the eye, and that wasn’t any different now. 

Draco’s palms were sweating and his scar itched, but he abstained from wiping his hands on his trousers and giving his anxiety away.  Now that the moment was here, he wasn’t certain he wanted to see Harry.  Seeing Harry just lying there in a bed, dead to the world, and unaware of his presence while Draco attempted to ignore the suspicious glares of Harry’s adoptive family – Draco wasn’t sure that was an experience he’d relish.  But Granger was gripping his left wrist like she was afraid he would run away at any moment, and she’d been quite adamant at breakfast that Draco had to go, that even if Harry was unconscious, he would have wanted Draco there.  Draco had held his tongue and just gone with it, because getting in a row with her was exhausting and a large part of him hoped that she was right - as though maybe his presence alone might bring Harry some small bit of comfort. 

He was ashamed to admit he had entertained the notion countless times in his head over the past few days.  He’d approach Harry’s sick bed and sit beside him, or he would touch his hand, and Harry would miraculously twitch awake, his comatose state forgotten.  It was a fantasy born of sickly sweet fairy tales about magic and the power of true love, and it was completely unrealistic.  Draco hated himself for even entertaining the thoughts, and allowing himself to get swept away by the imaginary scenarios as he’d lay in his four-poster and stared up at the ceiling.  That type of false hope could only lead to crushing disappointment, and this visit would already prove to be painful enough.  He was certain of that, at least. 

At this point, he wasn’t even certain he’d be allowed to go, and even if he was, he would most likely be forced into the background, the Weasley family crowding around Harry like a human shield.  He’d be lucky if he’d even be allowed to sit beside him.  Draco was realistic enough to understand that, and while the knowledge of that eventuality frustrated him, he resolved not to fight for the right if it came down to it, because he was already an intruder in everyone’s eyes and he had no way to prove that he belonged there with the rest of them. 

The Weaslette wouldn’t even look at him now.  Her eyes had slid right over him the moment he’d entered the room behind her brother and Granger.  No doubt she would commandeer the seat at Harry’s bedside and play the part of the grieving girlfriend the moment they entered his room in St. Mungos.  Granger and Weasley would flank her with the rest of the family looking on.  Weasley’s mother would stand in the door way, protecting her adopted son and keeping Draco away.  He could already see it, and he already knew he wouldn’t fight it.  He’d stand there in the hall, perhaps under the careful watch of Aurors, and only catch glimpses of Harry’s sleeping form beyond as his loved ones whispered to each other and pushed the stubborn dark locks away from his pale forehead with gentle fingers.  Draco would lean back against the opposite wall and fist his hands in his robes where no one could see his frustration, and he’d watch in silence, wiping any expression of longing from his face.  He would give nothing away, of course.  He would play his part. 

Suddenly, the fireplace burst into green flame, filling the quiet room with a whooshing noise, and Weasley’s father stepped out, brushing the soot from his robes for a moment and smiling wearily, before he looked about and noticed Draco standing there alongside his children and Granger.  The smile slid right off his face and he opened his mouth, but Granger cut him off.

“Draco’s coming too, Mr. Weasley.”

Mr. Weasley’s brows knitted, but he didn’t look angry so much as bemused.  “I hardly think…that is to say, Hermione.” His gaze flicked over to Draco for only a moment.  “He hasn’t been cleared by the Ministry.”

“I understand, but please, Mr. Weasley,” Granger insisted, her grip tightening around Draco’s wrist until it was almost painful.  He tried not to flinch.  “Harry would want him to visit just as much as us.”

“Hermione…” Mr. Weasley uttered weakly, already shaking his head.

“We won’t go otherwise, dad,” Weasley spoke up, and Granger sent him a look mixed with gratefulness and pride. 

The Weaslette shifted in the remaining silence, but she didn’t say anything, which Draco found surprising.  He would have expected her to at least insist that she would go no matter what.  That she had no part in this negotiation.  But she merely stood there, arms crossed over her chest, and stared down at her shoes.

Mr. Weasley stared at them all, clearly at a loss.

McGonagall stood up then and Mr. Weasley eyed her for the first time.

“Arthur,” she nodded.

“Minerva,” He greeted, pushing a hand through his thinning, copper hair.  “What do you think of this?”

“I would, of course, respect your judgment on the matter,” she replied neutrally. 

“Right,” he breathed, looking a bit overwhelmed.  “That’s…er…yes.”

“I would insist, however,” McGonagall continued.  “That I do not think Mr. Malfoy would pose a security risk.”

Mr. Weasley sighed.  “That may be so, but there are certain protocol and procedures that have to be maintained, I can hardly –.”

“You know the Minister for Magic, dad,” Weasley cut in, placing a hand on Granger’s shoulder as he did so.  “And you’re Harry’s guardian.  I’m sure you can convince the Aurors to admit Malfoy.  Everyone at the Ministry trusts you.”

Mr. Weasley chuckled uncomfortably, his cheeks reddening.  “Well, I would hardly say that’s the case for _everyone_ …”

Draco opened his mouth, deciding that it would probably be best for him to back out as it was clearly a lost cause, but Granger sent him a significant look and he clicked his mouth shut without thought.

“Please, Mr. Weasley,” Granger pressed again.  “Can’t you try?”

Mr. Weasley sighed again, shifting slightly from foot to foot as he eyed them all.  Draco did his best to keep his expression placid when the man’s gaze fell to him, before darting away again.  Mr. Weasley’s shoulders finally slumped and Granger seemed to relax a bit, her death grip loosening around Draco’s wrist.  “All right.”

“Thank you.” Granger beamed, and Draco felt something in his chest unwind, alerting him for the first time just how much he still wanted this even if it was bound to be painful. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mr. Weasley muttered, and he let out a breath.  “St. Mungo’s is sealed but for the main entrance, so we’ll have to pass through a few security check points before we reach the mannequin.  There’s a bit of a crowd around the hospital, so it might be slow going.  The DMLE is having a bit of a rough time keeping the muggles who pass by oblivious to all the magic with all the witches and wizards congregating in the street.  We’ll have to floo to the Leaky Cauldron and travel to St. Mungo’s on foot.”

“Will we have an escort?” Granger questioned, her brows knitting worriedly. 

“I’ve asked Robards to provide one, yes,” Mr. Weasley replied with a nod.  “He should be meeting us in front of the Leaky.”

“What about Mum?” the Weaslette spoke for the first time, her voice unerringly steady. 

“She’s with Harry and your brothers,” Mr. Weasley replied, before clamping his mouth shut for a moment, his ears going curiously red.  Granger and Weasley sent each other a look, but Mr. Weasley spoke again as if nothing was wrong, albeit his speech grew hurried.  “You lot will be the last to arrive, at any rate, so we should all get to it.  Who’d like to go first?”

The Weaslette went first, and Draco entered last, just before Mr. Weasley, who’d barely met his gaze when he handed him some floo powder from a small sack in his robe pocket.  When Draco stepped out on the other side, the Leaky Cauldron was unusually bustling for this time on a Saturday, but then heads inevitably turned in his direction and an unnatural hush fell over the pub.  Granger took hold of his wrist again and stared about the room, as if daring anyone to make a fuss.  Draco, for his part, did his best to appear unperturbed by the attention as patrons leaned over and whispered to each other, their expressions showing their clear dislike.  Some wizards teetering drunkenly on stools at the bar had just begun to stand up, scowling at him dangerously, when Mr. Weasley finally exited the floo.  Draco stiffened a bit when Mr. Weasley’s warm hand fell onto his shoulder, but he attempted to relax into it to avoid making his reputation with the gullible masses even worse.  He let Mr. Weasley steer him toward the door as the wizard nodded to Tom the bartender, who was currently giving Draco the stink eye. 

It was sprinkling when they spilled out onto the wet pavement, and a couple of muggles with umbrellas nearly ran into them, before Mr. Weasley pulled his son and Draco back by the scruff of their necks.  Draco stumbled a bit, biting down on a squawk of indignation, but Weasley yelped and rubbed at his throat when his father finally let go and grimaced, “Sorry, boys.” 

Granger and the Weaslette had stepped back on their own accord and were staring down the street which was bustling with muggles, some more smartly dressed than others, not that Draco could tell much of the difference.  Most days, Muggle fashion was hardly worth his notice, although it had always been apparent to him that Harry’s sense of fashion was the worst of the lot.  He could at least admit that some muggles seemed aware enough to dress themselves in clothing that fit.  But then again, he thought as he eyed a couple of teenaged boys who had just traipsed by in trousers that were certainly too tight and shirts that would be hanging off their skinny frames like drapery if the cloth wasn’t soaked and sticking to their skin, most muggles seemed to have the fashion sense of house elves. 

A moment later, a man in muted Auror robes emerged from a crowd of muggles waiting at the zebra crossing up the street and waved at Mr. Weasley.  Mr. Weasley waved back and they all followed him to join the Auror, whose gaze inevitably fell upon Draco and hardened.  Draco recognized him and tensed.  It was Savage, the grizzled Auror who had interrogated him in McGonagall’s office only two days ago.  Draco bit back a curse and did his best to eye the man levelly.  Granger seemed to notice the change in his demeanor because she sent Draco a questioning look, her gaze flicking between him and the Auror as she frowned. 

“Auror Savage,” Mr. Weasley greeted, although he too seemed to notice the tension between the Auror and Draco because his gaze flicked between them warily. 

“Arthur,” Savage stated gruffly, never once taking his eyes off of Draco.  “I wasn’t aware Mr. Malfoy had gained visitation rights.”

“Well…you see,” Mr. Weasley began warily.  “There’s been a sort of change in plans.”

Savage finally ripped his gaze away from Draco to level it on Mr. Weasley.  “Has the Minister been informed?”

“Not yet, no,” Mr. Weasley replied.  “It’s only just been decided, you see.”

Savage huffed and shifted from one foot to the other, but he seemed to take pity on Mr. Weasley, because his stern expression softened.  “I’m afraid I can’t allow it, Arthur.  It’s against protocol.  No one enters St. Mungo’s without a permit.”

“Surely you can send a message to the Minister and acquire one,” Granger stated, and Savage appeared a bit taken aback that she had spoken, but Granger didn’t falter under his sudden scrutiny.  “As Harry’s guardian, Mr. Weasley should have the right to invite any guest, even under such short notice.  I’m certain the Minister will understand, especially after everything the Weasleys have done.”

Savage’s bushy eyebrows rose nearly into his hairline, and he huffed out a laugh.  “I’m sorry, Miss Granger, but we are operating within a very strict schedule and the Minister is quite busy.  I have been instructed to escort only those who have a permit into the hospital within the hour.  After that, the lockdown will once again be in effect.”

“Lockdown?” Weasley questioned.

“The special security for Harry’s wing in St. Mungo’s,” Mr. Weasley informed them around a sigh.  “It’s quite strict and visitation is limited to only a few individuals, including a certain set of Healers and highly trained Aurors.  It hasn’t been lifted since Harry had first been admitted, until now.”

Savage nodded.  “And there is a time limit.  Soon, the lockdown will be back in effect.”

Draco swallowed and clenched his fists in his robe pockets.  It seemed his attempt to see Harry was impossible after all. 

“Then we won’t be going with you,” Granger stated into the silence.

Draco frowned at her.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Granger.  You’re going.”

“Not without you.” She shook her head stubbornly.  “We all agreed.”

Draco sighed and caught the Weaslette’s eye for the barest of moments.  She was watching the exchange, her face unreadable, but Draco could tell what she was thinking.  She’d never agreed to anything of the sort, and it was unfair for Granger and Weasley to miss the opportunity on his account.  He leveled a look on Granger and pried her fingers gently off of his wrist.

“You can’t use this as a bargaining chip anymore, and following through on the threat will only do more harm than good,” he stated, knowing what he was saying was right, even if the words hurt sliding off his tongue.  “I can’t go, but someone needs to be there…for Harry.  Honestly, you’re making this worse than it needs to be.”

Granger stared up at him with a frown tugging at her lips before she pushed some of her dampening fringe out of her eyes, and sighed.  “All right.”

“Good lass,” Savage praised, but Granger ignored him, her lips twitching into a deeper frown as Weasley grabbed her hand.

Draco nodded and he tried not to feel too frustrated by the turn of events.  Savage appeared entirely too pleased, and he did nothing to hide it.  Draco frowned and avoided looking at him altogether.  Mr. Weasley placed a hand on his shoulder, but Draco allowed it for only a moment before he shrugged out from under the touch.  Mr. Weasley pulled away, but his expression was an odd mix of pitying and calculating that made Draco highly uncomfortable.

“I’ll floo back to Hogwarts,” Draco stated to no one, vaguely watching an old muggle couple drinking tea in the window of a tiny café across the street.  The sky had stopped spitting, but the muggles were still walking about under their black umbrellas, barely paying attention to their surroundings as they navigated around them. 

“Here.”

Draco felt something nudging just above his elbow and looked down at the familiar sack.  He cupped his hand and let Mr. Weasley poor some powder into it.  He turned away without a word or a glance back and walked quickly back down the street, clenching the powder in his fist as an uncomfortable lump grew in his throat.

He nearly made it back to the Leaky Cauldron when someone shouted his name and he looked back over his shoulder.  Granger was running toward him, just managing to dodge a group of muggle teenagers, her face split into a smile.

Draco frowned in confusion, but then she was in front of him, tugging at his wrist and he tried to pull back.  “What are you doing, Granger?  You’re running out of time.”

She just shook her head, still smiling.  “Kingsley sent a Patronus.  He’s granted you visitation rights.”

“What?” Draco blurted, nonplussed, but she just tugged harder on his hand.

“Come on, Draco,” she admonished, and pulled him back, stumbling through the crowds after her.  “We’re going to see Harry.”

Draco’s heart leapt and he unclenched his fist, the floo powder falling to the pavement and mixing with the grime and dirt of the city underfoot, completely forgotten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for how long this update took! And I’m sorry that all of these chapters seem to end on plot points that are earlier than I initially intended. I keep thinking I can stuff more plot into one chapter than I actually can without it ballooning into a million pages. I had dreams of ending this chapter in St. Mungo’s, but alas…that’ll just have to happen in the next chapter. And it WILL happen in the next chapter, so help me God. 
> 
> And thank you so much to all of you who are reading this fic and enjoying it. Thank you for all of your awesome reviews and feedback. When my life sucks, all I have to do is look back at all the lovely comments I get on this fic, and I feel loads better. Seriously, I love all of you. You are the best!


	23. And it's Plain to See

Draco let Granger pull him back down the street and through a group muggle parents with their children in strollers until they broke through to the other side where Savage, Mr. Weasley, Weasley and his sister were waiting by the zebra crossing. 

Savage nodded to them, looking more than a bit put out by the circumstances.  Draco did his best not to smirk when the man eyed him.  “Best get going.  We’re already late.”

The Auror turned on his heal to cross the street when the signal changed, and melded into the crowd of muggles.  Mr. Weasley and the Weaslette followed just behind him. Draco took up the rear, Granger and Weasley falling back to walk beside him. 

Once they reached the other side, Draco glanced at Granger from the corner of his eye.  “How did Kingsley know I was coming?”

“I suspect McGonagall had something to do with it,” Granger admitted.  “Honestly, I should have asked her to petition for you sooner.”

“But then we would have tipped my mum off,” Weasley reminded her.  “She would have found out somehow and fought it.”

Granger sighed.  “That’s true.”

“Well, she’s certainly in for a nasty surprise,” Draco muttered bitterly.

Granger frowned and grasped his hand for a moment, squeezing it briefly.  “She can be very protective, but…she means well.  She’ll just have to deal with it.”

Weasley sent her a pinched look, but he didn’t say anything.  It was hardly comforting for Draco, but he didn’t comment, choosing to slip his hand out of her loose grasp and bury it in the pocket of his gray trousers.  A droplet hit his nose and he looked up just in time for the sky to open up, rain pouring down on them.  Granger waved her wand discreetly, just in front of her to keep the muggles from seeing, and Draco felt the dry, warm breeze of her magic flow over him, protecting him and Weasley from the downpour.  He just caught Mr. Weasley doing the same for himself and his daughter up ahead of them, the water sluicing off of them a couple inches away from the tops of their heads and shoulders.  Luckily, the muggles were all blind to it, hidden as they were beneath their large black umbrellas. 

They passed a smattering of shops and pubs where muggles went about their business until they finally turned a corner and stopped.  Weasley let out a quick breath.  “Blimey.”

Draco stared at the crowd that spread out before them in shock.  People filled the narrow street for what seemed like blocks in front of the old-brick façade department store of Purges and Dowse, Ltd, the muggle face for St. Mungo’s.  There were witches and wizards of every stripe, even children, filling the street with a cacophony of sound that echoed across the buildings.  Some were carrying signs with messages that faded in and out, others clutched flowers that were magically enhanced to sing or sparkle, there were even those holding up photos of Harry in the Prophet, and a few witches carried full-paged color photos of Harry winking seductively from issues of Witch Weekly.  Draco frowned at that.  He couldn’t think of any instance Harry had ever made such a face, and he was glad, because it made Harry look exceedingly vapid and full of himself. 

Owls flew overhead, carrying packages to the hospital, the dark sky nearly filled with them and the noise of their screeching.  Aurors prowled the perimeter and guarded the department store window.  Draco had a moment to wonder how the muggles couldn’t see the commotion until he noticed a couple of them try to enter the street just behind them only to shake their heads and look confused for a moment before they turned right back round.

“Anti-muggle charms,” Granger murmured, following his gaze.

A moment later, Williamson, Savage’s protégé, loped over to them from somewhere in the midst of the crowd, looking worse for wear.  His hair was disheveled in its ponytail and there was a high-flush on his cheeks.  His gaze caught upon Draco for a moment, but thankfully, he didn’t comment, before he turned to Savage.  “Ready when you are, sir.”

“Right,” Savage grunted, glancing back over his shoulder at Mr. Weasley.  “You lot will have to follow Auror Williamson here, and the rest of the Aurors will open a pathway through the crowd.  We’d best do it before this lot notices, at any rate.”  He eyed Draco then, clearly inferring the difficulty of the task was largely due to his presence. 

Draco tensed and side-eyed Granger, her eyes gaining that stubborn glint when she stared out at the crowd, as though readying herself to fight every one of them off. 

Mr. Weasley glanced back at them all, before nodding.  “We’re ready when you are, John.”

Savage sent Williamson a look and the younger Auror nodded, placing two fingers against something in his ear and speaking.  “Operation Red Sea is a go. I repeat, Operation Red Sea is a go.  Get in position.”

The Aurors prowling the edge of the crowd nodded and immediately moved into the middle like a spear, forcing the crowd to part, and Williamson moved quickly, motioning them to follow him, Savage taking up the rear.  Witches and wizards at the edges looked startled for a moment when they got jostled back, before one witch finally caught on to their approach and stiffened when her gaze inevitably fell upon Draco, her face twisting with recognition.  She screeched incoherently and those closest to her jumped in shock before following the direction of her frantic pointing.  Draco gritted his teeth and lowered his face, but it seemed his hair was all too recognizable and soon there were witches and wizards in the crowd roaring their displeasure.  The Aurors jostled against the angry crowd on either side of them as they made their way through.  Soon enough, the word spread that he was heading toward the hospital, and the air was so rent with roars of disapproval that he could barely hear any actual words of retribution.  Someone managed to slip by the Auror closest to Draco at one point and crashed into him, sending him hard into Granger’s side with a shocked grunt.  He had time enough to right himself and spot his assailant, a tiny witch in bright pink robes and a hat nearly her height with a large, garish photo of Harry splashed across it, before the Auror manhandled her back into the crowd and Weasley moved to his other side so that Draco was effectively boxed in between him and Granger. 

“Quickly, quickly,” he could hear Williamson urging just ahead of Mr. Weasley and the Weaslette, and they all picked up their pace.

Something hot and bright red whizzed by Draco’s cheek and he had only a second to realize it was a Stunner, before he was forced to duck another one.  He ripped his wand out of his pocket and gasped out a protego just as another curse ricocheted off the newly erected shield.  Granger and Weasley both erected their own at about the same moment and then they were running, almost tripping over their feet to make it to the other side where another line of increasingly agitated Aurors were guarding the high paned windows of the department store.  The Aurors lined up on either side of them were shouting out counter-curses now, attempting and mostly failing to push the crowd back. 

“Shit!”  Draco nearly tripped when the toe of his shoe hit the curb sooner than he’d expected and he stepped into an ankle deep puddle of freezing rain-water.  Weasley pushed between his shoulder blades from behind, and the combination nearly sent him falling face-first into the pavement before he miraculously righted himself just in time.  He didn’t even have time to glare at Weasley behind him for the unnecessarily forceful shove before he stumbled through the window pane just behind Granger, where the others had just managed to slip through.  They staggered into the startlingly bright and quiet reception area of St. Mungo’s and Draco bent forward, resting his hands against his knees as he gasped for breath.  He could just hear Savage’s heavy footfalls hitting the carpeted floor behind him.

“Merlin’s balls!” Weasley wheezed out beside Draco.

Draco raised his head and noticed the familiar blonde witch behind the reception desk, watching them all with wide eyes, before he glanced over at Weasley to find him wiping at his sweating forehead, his mouth pulled into a grimace as he mimicked Draco’s stance. 

“Let us never do that again,” Weasley continued breathlessly and straightened, eyeing his father, who was clearly out of breath himself and leaning against one of the bright white walls.  The Weaslette was pressing a hand to his shoulder and frowning, her ponytail in shambles as her hair stuck out every which way.  Weasley groaned.  “Please tell me there’s another way out of here.”

Mr. Weasley looked to Williamson then Savage, but neither Auror said anything, and Weasley grimaced.  “Bloody hell.”

“Ron, language,” Mr. Weasley chastised, but there wasn’t much heat to it as he pushed a hand through his thinning hair and stepped away from the wall.  “Is everyone alright?”

“I think so,” Granger replied shakily, wiping her wet fringe out of her face.

Draco sighed wearily and finally straightened out himself, taking in their surroundings.  The entire scene was odd.  The reception area at St. Mungo’s was usually bustling, but now it was completely empty and it looked unnervingly sterile, except for the stacks of Witch Weekly magazines  perched on almost every horizontal surface, Harry winking roguishly from their covers beneath the sparkling headline, **‘The Magical World’s Most Eligible Wizard a Bachelor Again!’**.  Draco scowled, but his face flushed when one of the Harry’s nearest him blew him a kiss, and Weasley snickered beside him.  Luckily, the Weaslette was looking the other way as she spoke to her father.  There were a few Aurors hanging back behind them, as if manning the entrance in case both the mannequin and the wall of Aurors on the other side failed to keep the rioting hoards out, but other than that, it was just them standing in the quiet lobby.  

“You lot here for Mr. Potter, I assume?” the blonde reception witch questioned from behind her desk, sounding a lot less bored than Draco remembered from previous encounters as she eyed them all with interest.

“Erm…yes,” Mr. Weasley replied.  “Have the other visitors arrived yet?”

“Hm,” she hummed, pushing thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her pert, button nose.  “A couple red-heads and a blonde woman had arrived just before you did.  I can show you to them, if you like.”

“I’ll be escorting them, Glinda, thank you,” Savage huffed at her.

Glinda narrowed her eyes at him, and raised a single, thin eyebrow, clearly unimpressed and put out by his rudeness.  “Be quick about it, then, will you?  Old Mr. Southwell in Spell Damage has been awaiting his wife for an hour now, and it won’t be long before other patients complain.  I’ve already had to turn away three witches with Dragon pox and a wizard with a nasty case of boils about his nether regions.”

“Right,” Savage sighed curtly and motioned Mr. Weasley and the rest of them to follow him down a hall to their right.

“I’ll be needing their wands,” the reception witch stated pointedly, and Savage stiffened before turning around.

He put out his hand to the group at large.  “You heard the witch.”

Mr. Weasley was the first to hand his wand over, and Draco was the last.  When Savage clutched all of their wands, he strode over to the desk and plopped the lot down in front of the witch.  “There you are.”

“Thank you,” she stated primly, ignoring Savage’s growl of annoyance.  “Have a nice day.”

“Right,” Savage muttered and he walked off, obviously expecting the group to follow him.

Draco had just passed through the threshold to the hall when he heard Glinda suddenly squeak, “Wait a tick…are you Draco Malfoy?”

Draco, having passed beyond her field of vision, didn’t respond and no one else bothered to either, which he was grateful for.  Granger and Weasley glanced at him for a moment, but that was it, as they walked down the brightly lit hall, passing numerous rooms for patients who were victims of various Artifact Accidents.  They passed some white-robed Healers who stopped chatting to stare at them, but Draco made sure not to make eye contact as they scrutinized him. 

He had a sudden sense of déjà vu when they took the lift up to the first floor and the gate opened onto the Dai Llewellyn Ward for serious bites.  He’d never been in this part of St. Mungo’s before, but he recognized the floating balls of light clustered along the ceiling from his dream.  Even the smell was familiar, but faint, like potions and illness, and his skin prickled with the old magic, layers upon layers of spellwork having built up over generations.  It sent a shiver down his spine and his hands started to sweat. 

He remembered all of this from the dream.  Everything, down to the portraits on the walls, was scarily accurate, and it was obvious even from his higher vantage point that he’d been in this ward before.  Even though he couldn’t remember ever visiting it in person.  Anticipation twisted his gut, but he tamped it down.  It didn’t mean anything.  It didn’t mean what had happened in his dream had happened in real life.  Someone would have said if something had changed, after all.  He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up.

They passed a large room where three other patients lay in beds, a healer tending to one of them who was moaning in pain. 

They kept walking until he saw two large doors at the end of the ward, and Draco’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the Aurors, standing sentinel, from his dream.  Both of them watched their approach and scanned the lot of them for a moment, nodding to Savage and Williamson, before their gazes inevitably fell upon Draco and they shifted warily.

“Stand down, men,” Savage ordered gruffly.  “This lot’s allowed visitation.” 

The two sentinels, a tall, dark-skinned wizard and his shorter, blond companion, looked at each other, but then noticeably relaxed their stances. 

Savage stopped and turned back to Mr. Weasley then.  “Williamson and I will leave you lot to it then.  You’ll have…” he checked some glowing numbers on his wrist.  “About half an hour now, before we extract you.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Weasley nodded.

Savage nodded to Williamson and they both stepped away, hanging back as Mr. Weasley lead the rest of them to the double doors. 

Almost the moment they reached them, the doors opened just enough for someone poke her head out, a stout woman Draco recognized to be Weasley’s mother, but he barely noticed her, his heart suddenly in his throat, because in that small moment, he saw the light from the room beyond wash out over the carpeted floor, and it was yellow. 

Yellow, Draco swallowed.  In his dream, the light had turned from blue to yellow when Harry had woken up.  Granger seemed to notice him stiffen because she side-eyed him curiously. 

“Arthur, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Mrs. Weasley chastised for a moment as she stepped out into the hall, but then her gaze flittered over the group and she stiffened the moment she noticed Draco standing there between Granger and her son.  Her expression turned dark in an instant.  “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Now, Molly – “ Mr. Weasley began, putting out a hand to placate her, but Draco stepped forward without thinking, his heart racing in his chest, eyes never once leaving the crack left between the partially opened doors. 

“It’s yellow,” Draco croaked.

“What?”  Mrs. Weasley questioned, staring at him now as if he’d just grown a second head.

“The light,” Draco replied breathlessly, and he finally pinned the woman with his gaze.  “Is he awake?”

“What?” the woman repeated, but she looked a bit spooked now, and she was watching him warily.

“Is Harry awake?” Draco questioned, louder now, desperate. 

“That’s hardly,” she spluttered, her gaze flitting about, but she looked guilty.  “How did you?  You’re not to –“

“Mum?” Weasley questioned, his voice hoarse, his tone disbelieving. 

She looked to Mr. Weasley, helplessly, and he just smiled at her, although he had the grace to appear contrite.  “It’s alright, Molly.”

“How can you say that when he - ?” Mrs. Weasley gestured at Draco, clearly beside herself.  “Why did you bring him here?  He’s dangerous!”

“Molly,” Mr. Weasley began patiently.  “The Minister granted him visitation.”

“Please, Mrs. Weasley,” Granger continued before the woman could say anything more.  “Harry and Draco are friends.  The Prophet doesn’t know anything.”

“It’s a load of bollocks, mum,” Weasley chimed in right when his mother opened her mouth, no doubt to retort.  “Just like I said in my Owl.  Harry would want Malfoy here.”

Mrs. Weasley stared at them, clearly nonplussed, before she turned her attention to her daughter, who had been standing silently beside Mr. Weasley up until now.  “Ginny…do you…what do you have to say about this?”

Draco sucked in a breath, tensing, when the Weaslette looked up at her and then flitted her eyes over Granger and her brother for a moment, silent for a long while.  Then she looked back at her mother, staring at her for what seemed like forever, before she nodded.  “He’s fine, mum.”

Draco let out a breath and stared at her, honestly shocked.  She didn’t look back at him, though.  She leaned more against her father, who put arm around her shoulders, and her mother stared at them both, clearly at a loss.

Suddenly, the doors opened again, and George Weasley stuck his head out, looking about.  “What’s going on?”  But then his expression went tight went he spotted Draco and his eyes narrowed.  “What’s Malfoy doing here?”

“Draco?”

Everyone stiffened, and Draco’s heart leapt into his throat, because that was Harry’s voice traveling out from the room beyond.  He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Draco…are you there?” Harry repeated loudly, then in a lower voice.  “Is Draco out there, George?”

No one said anything, as if they were frozen in place.  Draco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, his hands shaking, but he finally managed to croak.  “Harry?”

He heard bed sheets rustling, and someone, a man, speaking urgently from the other side.  “Harry, you shouldn’t move.”

“I’m fine,” came the terse reply, and Granger had apparently had enough because she gripped Draco by the arm and pushed past George into the room, pulling Draco along with her.  George grunted but he moved back easily enough, letting them pass, Weasley and the others spilling in behind them.

Draco stopped just inside the room and stared, spotting Harry already halfway out of his bed, one bare leg swinging off the side as if he was in the middle of trying to get up before he stopped at the sight of Draco entering the room.  His black hair was a mess like usual and his eyes were greener than Draco remembered them, but it might just have been an effect of the yellow light pervading the room that now resembled a cozy cottage bedroom, complete with windows that looked out upon a magically projected garden and light oak furniture that lined the rounded walls.  A long-haired red headed man, whom Draco had never met but who he suspected was yet another Weasley sibling, stood beside the French half-veela, Fleur Delacour, whom Draco recognized from the Triwizard Tournament, but Draco scarcely spared them a glance.  He stared at Harry and Harry stared back at him, frozen for a moment, but then the spell was broken when Granger ran forward and wrapped Harry up in a fierce hug.

Harry grunted even as his arms came up to embrace Granger back.  His voice sounded strained, and his eyes were still locked with Draco’s over her shoulder as she appeared to squeeze the life out of him.  “A bit tight, Hermione.”

Granger pulled back as if burned.  “Sorry!  Sorry!  _Oh_ , Harry!  Are you alright?  How long have you been awake?”

Harry grimaced, finally pulling his gaze away from Draco for a moment to give Granger his attention.  “I just woke up actually.  They’ve been forcing Dreamless Sleep potion on me.”

“All along?” Weasley questioned from behind Draco and then he made his way to stand beside his girlfriend. 

Draco couldn’t move, and he just stood there dumbly, his feet practically planted to the ground as he took in Harry’s appearance, his mannerisms, the healthy color of his cheeks, the way his white St. Mungo’s robes stretched across his wide shoulders and pooled over his lap. 

Harry shook his head at Weasley’s question.  “Just since two nights ago.  I don’t remember anything before that.”

Two nights ago, Draco thought, his heart beat loud in his ears.  He’d had the dream two nights ago. 

Mrs. Weasley bustled over to Harry’s other side, and immediately attempted to tuck him back in to the covers, pushing him back against the pillows propped up behind him.  “You need to rest, dear.  You haven’t regained all of your strength yet.”

Harry didn’t fight the manhandling, although he frowned a bit, before she pulled away but then he made an effort to send her a grateful smile.  Mr. Weasley coaxed his daughter further into the room and Harry’s gaze finally slid over to her.  He tensed and appeared uncomfortable for a moment.  “Ginny.”

She looked at him, then strode forward and placed a hand over the lump of one of his feet that was beneath the covers.  “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, appearing to relax, and Mrs. Weasley was looking between them expectantly, clearly hoping the interaction would lead to something more, but the Weaslette didn’t do or say anything more, and Harry’s gaze switched back to Draco as if he couldn’t quite help himself. 

The lump in Draco’s throat grew until it became quite difficult to swallow, and his eyes began to sting.  He had to blink when his vision grew blurry, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with himself.  He felt a bit stupid and exposed and a million other things he couldn’t even begin to parse out.  He could feel everyone’s eyes on him and Harry, which only made him more uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Harry blurted, and he looked about the room, surveying everyone else.  “Could I speak to Draco…erm…alone?”

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth, clearly with the intention to object, but Granger cut in quickly.  “Ron and I will stay with them.”  And she sent Harry a look.

Harry stared at her, his eyes flitting over to Weasley, but Granger just nodded her head as if answering some silent question and Harry’s eyes widened.  Weasley shrugged and Harry gave him a long look, almost contrite, but Weasley shook his head and sighed.  The entire silent conversation happened in barely a few seconds, but in the end, Harry nodded, looking a lot less tense, and Mrs. Weasley looked beside herself again when all three of them gazed back at her imploringly.

After a long tense moment during which the entire room seemed to be holding its breath, Mrs. Weasley glanced at her daughter, her gaze questioning, and the Weaslette had the grace to shrug.  Mrs. Weasley sighed and appeared to crumple in on herself a bit.  “Alright, but only for a short time, you understand!  We’ll be just outside the door, and then I expect you to allow time for your other visitors.”

Harry winced slightly and nodded almost in the same movement.  “I will, Mrs. Weasley.  Thanks.”

Mrs. Weasley leaned forward and brushed some of his fringe off of his forehead in an exceedingly maternal gesture and Harry smiled, clearly pleased by the simple touch, before she moved away and made her way out the door.  The others followed her out dutifully, George stopping for a moment to survey them all with an inscrutable look, before he, too, exited the room and closed the doors behind him.  Draco knew it was a suspicious request for Harry to have made, but he couldn’t find it in him to wish he hadn’t made it, even when people like George Weasley looked like they were gathering evidence in their head for an inquisition.

When it was just Harry, Draco, Granger and Weasley left, they all stared at one another for an awkward moment, before Harry pushed a hand through his hair and bit his lip, looking at Draco, who still hadn’t moved from his spot near the door.

Weasley glanced between them, his expression pinched, and shifted from one foot to the other.  “We’ll just…erm…stand over here by this window, shall we?”

He grabbed Granger’s arm and she startled but hastily moved away with him. “Right!  I’ll just…cast a muffliato as well, for privacy.”

Harry frowned, color rising on his cheeks.  Weasley didn’t look much better, his complexion turning an unhealthy shade of puce, but Harry didn’t deny the general principle and the Weasley’s gesture seemed to be as close to an endorsement as he was ever going to get.  Something swooped in Draco’s stomach and he fought the heat in his cheeks as well, even though the idea that he and Harry were going to use that time to snog was simply ridiculous. 

Granger nodded her head and pulled Weasley aside so that they sat at two chairs near a window on the other side of the room, facing away from them, before she made a big show of casting a muffliato over her and Weasley both.

Harry and Draco both stared at them for a moment, before Harry finally turned his attention back to him and Draco caught his eye, but he didn’t move.

“Draco…” Harry coaxed and he put out a hand. 

Draco teetered in indecision for a moment before he finally gave in and stumbled forward, stopping just short of the bed, but Harry leaned forward and grasped one of his hands in his own.  Draco stared down at their hands, horrified to find his vision blurring again, and Harry tugged until Draco sat down on the edge of the bed, one leg dangling off with the other curled beneath him as he faced Harry.

“Are you alright?” Harry questioned.

Draco huffed out a laugh, which to his horror, sounded a bit like a sob, but he wasn’t crying, thank merlin.  “I should be asking you that.  You’re the one who –“  the words cut off, strangled in his throat and he couldn’t continue. 

Harry rubbed a circle into Draco’s hand with his thumb.  “I’m fine.  I don’t remember any of it.”

“Not even the attack?” Draco questioned, finally raising his head to look him in the eye.

Harry shook his head.  “Not much.  I reckon I was out…too quickly.”

“That’s fortunate,” Draco breathed out, because he had the distinct misfortune of remembering it all in vivid detail.

“What happened?” Harry asked quietly.

Draco shrugged, trying to appear less rattled than he was, and looked away.  “The Pogrebin was bigger than it was supposed to be and it attacked us from behind.  You…went down, and I stunned it.  Then Hagrid carried you out, to McGonagall.”

“How’d he find us?”  Harry questioned, brows knit.  “We were pretty deep in the forest.”

“I sent my Patronus,” Draco replied, looking Harry in the eye then.

Harry’s brows rose a bit. “Ron saw it.”

“Yeah,” Draco stated.  “I sent it to Granger.”

“Right,” Harry replied, looking thoughtful.  “He didn’t make things difficult for you, did he?”

“No,” Draco shook his head.  “Bit surprising, really, as he’s usually a giant twat.”

Harry coughed out a laugh.  “He can be, yeah.” Then his smile turned wry.  “Then again, so can you.”

Draco punched him in the arm, but his lips twitched, because he couldn’t deny Harry was right. “Prat.”

Harry rubbed his arm in a fake show of being wounded, because Draco hadn’t hit him that hard, but a grin still tugged at his lips.

Draco huffed, smiling, but then he sobered when his gaze slipped passed Harry’s right shoulder to Weasley and Granger sitting dutifully and facing the window on the far wall, their heads close together as they conversed.  He couldn’t help his voice catching when he next spoke.  “You bled a lot.”

Harry stared at him, his thumb stuttering to a stop for a moment over the soft skin of his hand before continuing its slow circles. 

“And you were here for a while,” Draco continued, uncertain what or why he was saying what he was, but the words just flowed out of him.  “We didn’t know what was happening.  They didn’t tell us you’d woken up.”

His lips trembled, but then Harry leaned forward and kissed him, pressing against his lips until the trembling stopped.  He squeezed Draco’s hand briefly before finally pulling away.  Draco sucked in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, willing the now ever-present burn away.  He didn’t know what was wrong with him.  It was like everything he’d been suppressing all week was suddenly overflowing, burning beneath his skin and closing up his throat.  He felt a bit stupid and exposed.  He honestly thought he’d been fine, that he was handling it.

“I think it was the Aurors’ idea,” Harry muttered, scowling a bit in clear distaste.  “To keep it secret.  I tried arguing against it the few moments I was actually awake, but they wouldn’t hear any of it.  They insisted it was best for security.”

Draco nodded.  “I’d suspected as much.  Since the dream.  I thought they might be hiding it to keep the news from leaking to the public.”

Harry nodded, frowning.  “It doesn’t make any sense though.  Whether the public knows I’ve awoken or not, I’m still asleep most of the time from the potions, and I’m locked up in here with a full Auror detail.  It’s maddening.”

“Who can fathom why the Ministry does what it does?” Draco grimaced.  “It’s not as if they’ve ever been particularly adept at anything before this.  Really, I’d be more surprised if they demonstrated any sense.”

Harry smiled wryly.  “True.”  

“How’s your chest?” Draco forced out, his voice a bit more rough than he’d like, but he needed to see the damage for himself.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied, sounding bemused. 

Draco looked up at him just as Harry pulled his robes down a bit, exposing his chest for his perusal.  Draco stared at the remarkably unmarred expanse of skin and muscle.  It looked completely untouched.  He pressed the fingers of his free hand to the warm skin, Harry’s heart beating strong beneath his palm.

“Shit,” he breathed out without thinking, and Harry’s eyebrows rose.  Draco forced a shrug that probably looked more like an awkward twitch and pulled his hand away.  “You should have seen it before.  It’s impressive, what they’ve done.  I’m shocked there’s no scar.”

“I reckon I have enough of those,” Harry stated, his voice oddly husky, but then he covered his chest with his robe again, and Draco belatedly realized he’d been staring.

Draco looked away, struggling to tamp down on his evidently healthy libido.  This was hardly the time or place.   

“You were here two nights ago, weren’t you?” Harry blurted out of the blue, and Draco startled, barely breathing as he looked back up at Harry’s face.

“What?”

“I saw you,” Harry murmured.  “Well, not exactly you.  It was a white wolf, but it felt like you, right here in this room.  You called me.  It was your voice in my head…and I woke up.”

Draco stared at him, wide-eyed, and Harry looked away.

“It sounds mad, I know,” he muttered, appearing to recede into himself at Draco’s silence.

“No,” Draco uttered, and Harry’s eyes snapped to him, a brow rising in question.  “I mean, yes, it _does_ sound mad,” Draco amended, feeling faint.  “But I was here, two nights ago, in a dream.  Although, now I’m beginning to wonder if it was only that.  You _saw_ me?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, staring back at him, and a frown tugged at his lips.  “That’s not normal, right?”

Draco shook his head.  “No.”

“Even in the magical world,” Harry stated as if to confirm, although he seemed to already know the answer.

“Even then,” Draco replied.

“Right,” Harry murmured and he huffed out a dry laugh.  “Of course.”

“Well, it is you,” Draco smiled shakily.  “If this is to happen to anyone…”

Harry sighed, but he was smiling slightly, even as he covered his face with a hand for a moment.  When he pulled his hand away and looked back at Draco, his smile had turned a bit fond.  “I’m glad you were here, though.  Whatever you did brought me back.”

Draco was about to flick his eyes away uncomfortably, but then he spotted it.  There was something different about Harry now, the light in his eyes, the set of his mouth into something wry and world-weary, the invisible weight on his shoulders that Draco wouldn’t have noted but for all the times he had seen it weighing Harry down before the end of the war.  His eyes widened.  “You’re back.”

Harry’s brows knit and he frowned, clearly bemused.

Draco just stared at him, cataloguing the barely noticeable changes that were so glaringly obvious to him only because he had seen Potter from both before and after the war.  It was hard to describe what was so different but the overall effect was the same.  Potter was there and nowhere else.  Something was grounding him, weighing him down to earth, and the contrast to before the attack was so startling, Draco wondered how he’d never truly seen the extent of the difference before.  Harry had been coming back for a while, but now he truly was here in this moment, in this room, and it was a bit overwhelming. 

“Draco?” Harry questioned, shifting a bit as Draco continued to stare at him like a berk, a fact Draco realized too late with a start and he immediately looked away, pulling back a bit.  “What is it?”

Draco shook his head with a wry smile.  He couldn’t explain it anyway, and he didn’t wish to.  He’d only sound even madder, and he’d had quite enough of that for one day.  “When are they releasing you?”

“I dunno,” Harry grimaced.  “I’m ready to leave, though.  There’s only so much Dreamless Sleep I can take.  I feel like my limbs are turning into jelly.”

“Honestly, why would they make you sleep more when that was your problem to begin with?” Draco commented snidely.  “I have half a mind to Owl a complaint.”

“They said I woke up too soon – something about my body needing more time to fully heal.” Harry shrugged, and the offhand statement sent something like guilt spearing Draco in the chest.  Harry seemed to notice his reaction and frowned.  “I’m alright, though, honestly.  The Healers and Aurors here are treating me like I’m made out of glass.  It’s irritating.  I’d rather be back at Hogwarts…with you, and everyone else.”

“Honestly, I’m not quite certain Hogwarts is the safest place for you right now,” Draco muttered, finally voicing the concerns he’d harbored ever since the attack in the Forbidden Forest.

“You think what happened in the forest was deliberate?” Harry questioned perceptively, and something dark passed over his features.

“I suspect it likely,” Draco sighed bitterly.  “There are too many coincidences.  The pogrebin was too big.  Hagrid thought I’d engorgioed it, and he couldn’t identify the witch or wizard who had tipped him off at the Hog’s Head.  There’s been an investigation by the Ministry, but I’m not privy to what the Aurors have gathered on the case.”  Draco stopped before he admitted that he was one of their suspects, along with his mother, and he didn’t mention his encounters with Harper and his suspicions about some of the Slytherins, before he continued.  “Add to that the rising tide of supposed Death Eater attacks across Britain, and it seems more and more likely that someone has been targeting you.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes and sighed heavily.  “Or you.”

“What?”

“You were there with me,” Harry explained.  “You could have gotten just as hurt as I had.”

Draco stared at him, his mind working.  “But why would they be after me if they’re a purported Death Eater?”  But then he stopped and swallowed. “Unless…”

“They wanted to frame you,” Harry finished under his breath, obviously agitated by the possibility.

Draco grimaced.  “If that’s the case, they might have succeeded.”

Harry frowned and he gripped Draco’s hand. “How?”

Draco shook his head, and cursed himself for letting that slip.  “No, nevermind, I misspoke.  They’ve hardly succeeded, so calm down.  I won’t be going to Azkaban any time soon.”

Harry stared at him searchingly, frown still in place.  “Have Aurors questioned you as a suspect?”

Draco tensed and looked away, but he knew it would be futile to deny.  “Yes, which is hardly shocking, you must know that, given the circumstances as they are, and who I am.” He leveled Harry with a look and the wizard deflated a bit, although he still looked highly disgruntled by the entire situation.  “Fortunately, they found me innocent.  So if that had been your assailant’s aim, they’ve failed on both counts.  Obviously, we’re dealing with an amateur.” 

Draco decided he wouldn’t mention the Daily Prophet issue and the fact that practically the entire wizarding world essentially blamed him for the attack until he absolutely had to.  He didn’t want to stress Harry out even further, unnecessarily. 

Harry let out a breath and ran a hand roughly through his hair.  “Right.  Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.  I reckon I’ve been waiting for everything to go completely pear shaped since the end of the war.” 

“How cynical of you,” Draco observed dourly.

Harry just shrugged.  “I’m used to it.”

Draco stared at him and gritted his teeth, suddenly angry on his behalf, even if he recognized it was a bit ironic, given his past.  “You shouldn’t have to be.”

Harry raised his brows a bit, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his green eyes sparking with that familiar warmth, but then the knob of the door rattled, and Draco just managed to jump off of the bed, before the other Weasleys re-entered the room.  Harry hastily waved a hand and Granger and Weasley startled a bit from their corner, obviously no longer under the influence of their muffliato.  They looked about and immediately jumped out of their chairs, pretending badly that they had been watching Harry and Draco all along.  Draco settled a look on Harry that the wizard caught just as Draco mouthed, “show off.”

Harry only grinned back, the arrogant git. 

This all happened in mere moments, and while Mrs. Weasley and George were looking about at them all suspiciously, they didn’t say anything about it.  The Weasley matriarch took a spot just beside Harry’s bed, almost where Draco had just been sitting moments before, and Draco stepped back even further until he was leaning back against a potions cabinet.  The rest of the family surrounded the bed, the Weaslette choosing to ignore her mother’s gestures to come closer and remained standing at the foot, but her gaze was soft when she looked up at Harry, and Draco had to look away. 

They began to talk, but Draco drowned out their voices, pretending to be bored or disinterested, anything to mask how affected he was.  He watched Harry smile at something Weasley and George said, and accept a kiss on the cheek from Delacour.  There was a definite sense of relief that permeated the room, and if Draco was honest, they all felt like a proper family, the kind he’d never truly had and the type Harry had obviously always craved. 

Draco was struck by it, wondering how he fit.  He’d never felt more of an outsider than he did in that moment.  Even when Harry’s eyes, bright and alive, occasionally locked with his in the gap between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as they doted on Harry with pride and affection.  Draco stood back in the shadows, and tried not to think of his own parents, his father in his Azkaban cell, his mother in her mansion, both separate and imprisoned in their own ways.  He stood there, alone with his thoughts, until Savage beckoned them all out of the room.  A Healer entered, a bottle of potion in her hand – no doubt of the Dreamless Sleep variety.  Harry eyed it with clear distaste for a moment, but he didn’t say anything when the Healer placed it at his bedside.  Draco lingered when Harry turned to hug Granger and Weasley goodbye as Mrs. Weasley watched on from the doorway. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Harry muttered as if to the room at large, but he was looking at Draco when he said it. 

Draco nodded and slipped out through the doors, Weasley and Granger following just behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was easier to write than most. It might be due to the fact that I have been working toward the events in this chapter for what feels like eons. I hope the lack of difficulty doesn’t translate into a lack of quality. That tends to happen with me actually.
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and double thanks to those of you who comment. You really motivate me to keep going even when life gets in the way!
> 
> Btw I'm angels-are-robots on Tumblr. Feel free to follow and/or message me there. ;)


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